


Wanting

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Drama, Episode Related, Future, Gap Filler, M/M, Romance, Spoilers, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-01
Updated: 2006-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-29 02:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12072474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Let's just pick up where the series left off, shall we?





	1. Wanting Him

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: **Summary:** Let's just pick up where we left off, shall we?  


* * *

Brian sighed.

 

His fingers dug eagerly into long blonde hair. The sensation of the silky strands slipping through his fingers,  
coupled with a hot pull on his dick. Familiar. Hot. Deliciously … un-electric.

 

Gently, Brian took hold of the head full of hair and pushed it away, interrupting a perfectly competent performance  
by the twinkie on his knees before him.

 

“Something wrong?”

 

Brian strained to see in the dimness of the backroom. His eyes were unaccustomed to the light. Even though he had  
chosen it. He was more accustomed to the flashing, ethereal light show of his playroom rebuilt on the upper level.  
That’s one good thing about having your property blown up: you can rebuilt better, bigger, extra fabulous.

 

Brian continued to peer down, smiling. “On the contrary…”

 

The angelic face, batting blue eyes upward. A naughty smile leaned forward and reattached to Brian’s dick.

 

Brian grasped anew to the head in his hands and leaned forward.  
Riding the hot pull, feeling the heat in him rising.  
The heat…  
The pull…  
simmering, steaming, rising  
building, rocking, boiling  
…to eruption.

 

When Brian came down, his eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth hanging open in a crooked smirk.  
“Thank you.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Brian walked onto the main dance floor of Babylon, surveying his vast domain. Everything was going exactly as he  
orchestrated. The crowd was heavily spiced with twinkies tonight. Perhaps it was the theme. There were several.

 

To the average fag granted admittance, it was Hard Heroes Night. From The Tick to Wolverine, to the classic  
caped crusaders, which of course included one obscure action hero Captain Astro. The crowd of dancing  
queens mingled and saunter among tights wearing, costumed comic gods.

 

Brian didn’t need tights or a cape to turn heads. He only needed to walk into the room. His black mask glowed  
blue, his blue tinted black sleeveless shirt fit skin tight. The rip across the front kept the hungry looking hard to see  
exactly how much flesh the opening revealed.

 

Brian looked past the adoring eyes of a curly-headed brunette to the platform in the center of the dance floor.  
Dancing closely, smiling stupidly into each other’s faces, was giggling Michael and birthday boy Ben. Ben danced  
wildly despite the flowing blue cape and blue and red “S” painted on his bare chest.

 

Brian never thought he would see the day when Michael would prefer a dance with Superman over his beloved  
Captain Astro.

 

The ever-changing kaleidoscope of life.

 

They looked happy, even for an old married couple.

 

They all looked happy. Watching Michael and Ben in the center ring, Brian’s extended family stood lined up along  
the bar next to the exit. The club remix of _Holding Out for a Hero_ was almost as loud as Debbie’s green and  
pink pants suit. The suit was littered with a Siamese cat print and beneath she wore a white T-shirt that read  
FAG HAG in ruby red to match her hair.

 

Doing shots with her, and having a notable less gay old time was Carl Horvath. As instructed, he wore the pink  
T-shirt Brian had given him. Across the front in bold black read the word STRAIGHT. However Brian’s gift did not  
deter most that were interested from looking.

 

Brian had given Hunter a pink T-shirt that he begrudgedly wore reading JAILBAIT. This attire was quite  
successful in warding off cruising guys and keeping alcoholic beverages from coming his way.

 

“Teddy, don’t you trust him?” Brian heard as he approached. The endless Ted and Emmett Show was in progress  
at the furthest end of the bar.

 

“I’m not saying I don’t trust him. I just don’t have to like it, that’s all,” Ted protested.

 

“I’ll have half a shot of bourbon,” Hunter said leaning into the bartender.

 

“The fuck you will,” Brian answered, squeezing between Hunter and Debbie. He eyes the nervous bartender.  
“Cherry Coke.”

 

“Haven’t you heard? I popped my cherry a long time ago.”

 

Brian handed Hunter the drink that instantly appear. “In that case, you can drink to it’s memory.”

 

“Brian, this is a fucking great party,” Debbie announced, swaying to the music.

 

“Yeah, they certainly do like the music here don’t they?” Carl commented. “A lot more than they seem to like  
wearing clothes.”

 

“You should go into party planning with Emmett,” Hunter suggested.

 

“I have to admit, Brian. We do share a distinct talent. Fairies with Flare for the Fabulous.”

 

“Only I didn’t use my flare to set myself ablaze.”

 

Brian and Emmett exchanged insincere smiles. Then Brian glanced back at the bartender, “ Water. As practical  
and brilliant as that idea may be, I’m afraid it’s a question of principles. You see Auntie Em here thinks party  
planning is fun and he does it to make people happy. Where as we all know I have always subscribed to the firm  
belief that I have to make myself happy first. And if what pleases me doesn’t please others… well, fuck ‘em.”

 

“So throwing Ben a birthday bash here at Babylon is for you,” Ted mumbled doubtfully.

 

“Well as you’ve already pointed out, I throw a fucking fabulous party. And since you bleeding hearts are determined  
to celebrate every little fucking occasion, I might as well kill three birds with one stone.”

 

“Three birds?” Debbie echoed.

 

“I’ve been wanting to make Hard Heroes Night an annual event. Most Fags still have their tights out from Halloween.  
Now they know it’s a tradition. Michael can’t throw a successful party to save his life.”

 

“He’s right about that,” Hunter chimed in.

 

“I am helping strengthen his family unit by saving Ben from another crappy evening.”

 

“On behalf of my family unit, thanks. Nothing blows worse than smiling for hours when you’re really bored off  
your ass.”

 

Brian studies Hunter a moment. “You’re still not getting a bourbon.”

 

“Can't fault a man for trying,” Hunter grinned and shrugged.

 

“So who’s the third bird?”

 

Brian took a deep swig of his bottled water.

 

“It’s the one year anniversary of the re-opening of Babylon,” Ted said. “Eighteen months since the bombing.”

 

“I can’t believe they never caught the sick assholes who set it,” Debbie fumed.

 

“We still may. The FBI still has the case open,” Carl added.

 

“But for now, we’re focusing on the happy occasion at hand.” Emmett said, raising his Cosmo in one hand and pointing  
to the center platform where Michael and Ben danced with the other. “To health, and nuptials and happy birthdays!”

 

“You’re right,” Hunter said to Brian. “It would never work. Totally different agendas.”

 

“Tell me again why you’re only in community college?” Brian leaned in, raising his bottle to the toast.

 

The group turned in unison to see the featured couple looking at them. As they waved cheerfully, their friend toasted  
them from afar. Then just a moment later, dispersed.

 

Emmett spotted his latest love and skipped away, disappearing instantly into the sea of bouncing bodies.  
Carl excused himself to the men’s room and Hunter followed, each thinking the other may need some protection.  
Ted stood with his back to the crowded dance floor, nursing a cranberry drink.

 

“Trouble in paradise?” Brian sighed disinterested.

 

“No, it’s nothing.”

 

“It doesn’t sound like nothing. Are your snow bunny’s affections waning?”

 

“No, of course not.”

 

“Theodore. Don’t tell me, domestic bliss, isn’t?”

 

Ted’s body shook, literally breaking free of his silence. “He’s counseling some kid that has a crush on him.”

 

“That’s nothing new. That’s how you met.”

 

“I met Blake at Babylon.”

 

“Oh yes, the coma. No wait, the bathroom floor?”

 

“Never mind that the point is he’s a lot younger than me. I just can’t help remembering those first weeks of recovery.  
You’re really needy.”

 

“I have never been needy,” Brian said indignantly.

 

“Universal you, Brian! Look Blake has always been extra special, extra kind to everyone he counsels.”

 

“And you want him to save the extra special for you?”

 

“Yes, I do. There I said it. I want to be the special one. The only special one. I mean wouldn’t you want the person  
you love to save something special for you?"

 

“I wouldn’t know anything about that Theodore.”

 

Brian felt the club lights dance against his face. He felt Ted looking through him, waited for the accountant to call  
him on his denial.

 

Thankfully, Ted said, “That’s right. You wouldn’t know anything about that. After all, you are Brian Kinney.”

 

Ted pat Brian on the shoulder and weaved his way towards the exit.

 

“You know, you don’t need to put on an act with us.”

 

Brian had forgotten Debbie stood at his right. She turned with him towards the bar. Two shots of tequila magically  
appeared before them.

 

“And what act would you be referring to?” Brian asked over a wailing techno organ. He could practically smell the  
tuna casserole.

 

“The act where you pretend you don’t know what it’s like to be in love. Where you pretend that you don’t miss  
Sunshine. That you don’t still love him.”

 

“Have a shot Deb. On the House.”

 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Debbie giggled as she took the first glass and drained it dry.

 

Brian watched the buzz sail around inside her head before she bat her eyes slowly and continued. “There are  
four birds.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

“You waited until November 2nd to reopen Babylon. Even though it was ready two months after the bombing."

 

“Have another drink Deb.”

 

“Don’t mind if I do.” Debbie repeated herself. She slammed the second drink, swam a bit in the buzz and continued.  
“Sunshine is the fourth bird.”

 

“You’re drunk Deb.”

 

“I certainly am. But I still know why you’re talking about. Wait, what I’m talking about. Ben and Sunshine have the  
same birthday, remember?”

 

“Really?”

 

“Of course you do! You waited to reopen for him didn’t you?”

 

Brian finished off his bottled water. Thumpa thumpa filled the space between Debbie question and the answer  
he never actually spoke.

 

“Is he coming tonight?”

 

“Didn’t come last year. Why would he come this year?”

 

“Because you sent for him.”

 

“Well obviously he got a better offer.”

 

“Maybe he couldn’t, and can’t. Not right now.”

 

“Or maybe he doesn’t want to.”

 

Debbie propped herself up on the bar with one elbow. “Well it’s not like you to take no for an answer.”

 

“Who says I have?”

 

Debbie smiled a lazy drunken smile. “Hot damn, you’re ready now, aren’t you?”

 

Brian fought to keep his smile concealed. Fought hard.

 

”Now that’s more like it! So you got the flier in the mail?”

 

Brian regained his indifference and peered down at Debbie. He kissed her forehead. “I did.”

 

“Debbie, honey, I should probably head home,” Carl said, reaching his arm around Debbie’s shoulders.  
“Some of us have the early shift tomorrow.”

 

“Holy shit, so do I!” Debbie gave Brian another long searching look. Finally, she smacked him playfully across  
the face. “Find him Brian. Find Sunshine. You find him and tell him to come home!”

 

Carl laid a shawl over Debbie and she instinctively turns into his arms and kisses the detective. As she walks  
away, she turns. “And tell him if he doesn’t start writing or at least call once in a while, when I do get my hands on him,  
I’ll kick him so hard he’ll be able to taste my toe jam!”

 

“Yes mother,” Brian replied, sharing a grossed out grimace with Carl, who tugged his woman towards the club’s exit.

 

Solitude at last. Brian looked out on his kingdom. Michael and Ben still danced away together in their own  
little world. Boys and studs and bears hopped and danced to the constant thunderous thumpa thumpa.

 

Beautiful bodies. Deafening music. Sex in dark corners. Alcohol flowing.

 

There was only one thing missing.

 

Brian missed his Sunshine.  



	2. Rushing

  
Author's notes: **Summary:** Meanwhile, on the other side of the world...  


* * *

To download any of the songs quoted in each chapter, please visit **["Wanting Soundtrack"](http://www.livejournal.com/users/keisha7/10422.html)** , a music companion page.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

 

_New York City, center of the universe  
Times are shitty, but I’m pretty sure they can’t get worse._

_~["Santa Fe"](http://www.livejournal.com/users/keisha7/10422.html#cutid1) **from the Broadway Musical Rent**  
_

Justin couldn’t walk any faster. His portfolio was bulky against his right side, throwing off his balance, hampering  
him from actually breaking into a run.

 

He would be there soon. It was only ten blocks. Six fairly long ones, four shorter residential ones. But he was  
already late. Late is never good. Late feeds the paranoia.

 

Justin dug his bare fingertips into the palms of his gloved hands. Trying to regain feeling, warm away the numbness  
and cold. Trying to prepare himself for the repercussions of being late, again.

 

He walked past the pawnshop without gawking this time. He only remembered for a brief moment after that his  
computer sat in the window, waiting for a new home, or to go back to his once he found the spare cash. His heart  
would pound each time he approached Sal’s Pawn Shop, fearful that someone had bought it. Each time, for six  
months, the blank computer monitor would greet him with silent patience. Waiting to be reclaimed.

 

Tonight, Justin walked quickly past the window. He took the steps to his building two at a time and quickly pulled  
the iron gate back. He pushed his key into the door and as usual, it jammed.

 

“Fuck.”

 

Justin jostled and worked his key around the aged lock until the teeth fell into line, as they usually do eventually,  
and pushed the door open. He stole a glance at the property notice that had been posted a month ago. The latest  
in a string of investment companies that had bought and sold his apartment building.

 

Something patriotic of course. In his year here, he had seen all variations of freedom, liberty and eagles on the various  
company logos for the new property owners. Justin didn’t really care who bought the building or what their tired logos  
were. He had gotten use to those taglines throughout New York. Obvious phrases and ideas that had been  
rejuvenated and embedded back into everyday culture since 9/11.

 

“Wanna buy something? How about starting with a new fucking lock,” he mumbled, finally yanking the door open.

 

Justin quickly walked to the end of the dark hall, dodging the floorboards that he knew were loose and climbed  
into the elevator that sat a foot higher than the floor. He stabbed at the five button until the decrepit wooden box  
began to rise.

 

At the fifth floor, Justin hopped off while the elevator was still moving, knowing it would slither to its final stop.  
He was three strides into a run when he felt his body slide to an involuntarily halt, lassoed by something he  
glimpsed over his left shoulder. The apartment door to 5C was open. Keys hung in the knob, uselessly.

 

Justin pulled at the scarf around his neck as he worked them out of the door lock and slowly entered. Bright,  
colorful toys were scattered about the apartment, across the floor. Two brown paper bags, overflowing with  
groceries, sat on the floor by the door. And a small laugh came drifting from the orange lit kitchen.

 

The 9” inch black & white television sat playing a rerun of _Seinfeld_ on top of the 19” inch color television with a crack  
in the screen.

 

Justin saw strawberry blonde hair hanging off the couch and smiled. The young woman laid curled up in a ball,  
snoring quietly. The script she had been holding lay on the floor beneath the hand that dropped it, also hanging  
off the brown cushions.

 

Justin laid the keys on top of the script and rubbed her shoulder. “You gotta stop doing this Princess.”

 

The woman didn’t move. Before Justin could shake her harder, he heard the small laugh again and went to  
the kitchen.

 

The toddler had just finished scaling backwards down her high chair. With both feet on the floor, she steadied herself  
and turned to greet the world. Her strawberry blonde tresses were unmistakably her mother’s, her brown eyes  
shined and her mouth was probably somewhere beneath the thick red smears on her face. She blinked twice  
before she giggled and bounced at the sight of Justin. She stomped her feet in her footed yellow jumper and clapped  
happily when Justin picked her up.

 

“Your mother told me you were a climber. That quality will serve you well one day.”

 

The child stared at Justin in awe. Then Kramer made a noise on television, stealing her complete attention.

 

Justin didn’t mind the child’s vice-like grip on his coat with her Spaghetti-O painted hands. He hugged the child  
close as he walked to the living room. Planting the toddler down in the crib, he wiped her face with her bib and  
pulled the gate up to its full height. He quickly delivered the two bags of groceries to the kitchen counter.  
With a cursory glance at mom on the couch and baby in crib, Justin counted his work done.

 

He waved slowly at the toddler, who blinked twice, smiled joyously and batted a red-handed wave back at Justin.

 

“Christ, you’re smart.”

 

It took two tries before Justin could pull the apartment door shut properly. Satisfied, he turned and caught sight  
of the stairs once more. And remembered he was late.

 

Justin ran back down the hall towards the front of the building and took to the stairs. Three flights later, he burst  
through his apartment door. Not a smart idea since the hinges seemed ready to give way at any good gust of wind.

 

“What’s up?” Justin said loudly.

 

The apartment was dark. The scent of cup o noodles was present in the room. And like most nights, music was  
rising from the floor. His new neighbor of a month (or latest squatter, Justin didn’t trouble himself with finding out)  
was blasting another rock ballad. The chick downstairs would play a song, the same song, on repeat until  
eleven at night, always bemoaning the lost love of some poor alternative rock schmuck. This week it was Limp Bizkit,  
 _Behind Blue Eyes_.

 

He stood letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Lit by the moonlight, he saw it. A trail of white rose petals leading  
out the dust-caked picture window left cracked open. Clearly the petals were meant to camouflage the yellow  
heavy-duty extension cord for as long as possible.

 

Justin unhooked his portfolio from around his shoulder and set it against the back of the ratty orange couch.  
He tossed his keys, hearing them land on the wooden crate they used for a coffee table and climbed out onto the  
fire escape.

 

The extension cord running out of the window was one of six that lead to a tent on the roof. The trail of rose petals  
reappeared and seemed to lead into the tent. Justin thought he saw smoke, steam, rising from the top of the  
plastic igloo. Maybe it was a trick of the light. The moon was full.

 

The front flap to the tent opened. And a beautiful young man with dark wavy hair and green eyes peered out at Justin  
smiling. “Have you ever made love under the moonlight?”

 

Justin stepped onto the rooftop and smiled back at the boy. Late didn’t seem to be a problem tonight. Justin  
immediately got on his hands and knees and crawled to meet his waiting lover.

 

“Actually, I have.”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

The fast darting motions  
Steady, firm, harsh, repetitive  
Stroking, darting, soggy  
The small point of his tongue  
That Justin learned to feel for, lean into  
arch into, slowly, subtle…  
until the small curl pushed against the base of his cock  
finally, thankfully, pulling the trigger  
that ignites the fuse  
and sends his neglected head spewing  
down a waiting open throat.

 

 

The first thing Justin saw after he came was the moon. Shining down through the flap above him. The bumpy  
air mattress beneath him and the heated electric blanket on top of him hardly registered. It was the sight of the  
moon that entranced him. It looked huge and close, almost close enough to touch if he just reached out.

 

But his hands were occupied. Taken by the young man who now crawled up his body to slowly emerge from  
beneath the heated blanket.

 

“Where are you?”

 

“On the moon.”

 

The young man flipped onto his back and settled against Justin shoulder. He wrapped Justin’s arm around  
his neck. “Isn’t it gorgeous? I haven’t seen a moon this big since _Moonstruck_. But I ordered this one special  
just for you. Do you like your birthday present?”

 

“Yeah. It’s great.”

 

“I got it right, didn’t I?” the lover asked excitedly. “Today is your birthday, right?”

 

“Yup. For a little while longer.”

 

“Because I wanted everything to be perfect for you.”

 

“You thought of everything. Roses, moonlight, frostbite.

 

Justin’s lover sat up instantly, staring at him with a pout.

 

“Rene, I’m kidding. Come on, everything you did was really sweet. Really. Thank you.”

 

Justin quickly pulled off his glove and touched Rene’s cheek. He ran his thumb gently over the small pink lips until  
the pout turned into a smile again.

 

“You mean it Daddy?”

 

“I do. Thank you so much.”

 

Rene climbed on top of Justin again, excited once more. “Make love to me Daddy. Now, while it’s still  
your birthday.”

 

“Right now?” Justin taunted.

 

Rene sat up on Justin’s stomach. “I want you to fuck me so hard I pass out.”

 

Justin stared up at Rene in shock while the young man bounced against his dick, grinning as if he had just  
earned a prize.

 

Justin knew he was supposed to be surprised, even aroused at the display. Something new and exciting in their  
relationship. For Justin it was something old and familiar. An uneasy déjà vu.

 

_But that’s over now_ , Justin reminded himself.

 

“Such language, “Justin began.

 

“I know,” Rene answered proudly.

 

“From such a good boy.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Where did you learn to talk like that?”

 

“Someone talks in their sleep.”

 

“Who else have you been sleeping with,” Justin answered quickly.

 

“No one, pendejo.”

 

Justin suddenly rolled on top of Rene, surprising him, pinning him. “Ask me again.”

 

“Fuck me Daddy. Fuck me so hard I pass out.”

 

Justin gave himself another moment to absorb the role reversal. Their relationship had been moving in this  
direction for months. And yet being here, the one to be begged rather than the other way around…

 

Justin forced himself to stop thinking. He rolled a gleeful Rene onto his stomach. He grabbed the young man’s  
wrists and held them over his head. He leaned heavily on Rene’s back, lips so close to Rene’s ear and whispered.  
“While it’s still my birthday, huh? Better not waste any more time.”  



	3. Wanting Recognition

  
Author's notes: **Summary:** Justin's daily grind.  


* * *

To download any of the songs quoted in each chapter, please visit **["Wanting Soundtrack"](http://www.livejournal.com/users/keisha7/10422.html)** , a music companion page.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

__  
Lived there 'bout a year and I never once felt at home  
I thought I'd make the big time  
I learned a lot of lessons awful quick  
And now I'm tellin' you  
That they were not the nice kind  
And it's been so long since I have felt fine ... 

_~[“New York’s Not My Home” ](http://www.livejournal.com/users/keisha7/10422.html#cutid1)– Jim Croce  
_

 

He had it down to a science. At the table, he used the cutter to trim the graphic printouts down to size. Per the client, the half-inch border had been changed to a quarter. Even though he was in the room by himself, he made sure to lower the bladed arm before setting a finished picture aside and reaching for the next one in the stack.

 

The beep behind him told Justin it was time to switch gears again. He turned and stood at the scanner. With less care, he swapped the finish photo for the next. He had been copying, scanning and downloading images of 1920s roadsters, gangsters and Tommy guns all morning. He couldn’t begin to figure exactly what kind of campaign these images would be useful for. But he was use to that.

 

Justin had the misfortune of working under the least talented ad executive at Kennedy & Collins, Richard Campbell. Not only did Campbell not realize this fact, but he made a point of punishing Justin for every misstep his son, Lance made in his young career as an artist. Justin knew Lance from the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts. He told Justin about how his dad was disappointed he didn’t go to Tisch University, that he left New York, that he didn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps.

 

These days, however, Richard Campbell seemed to be getting his way in the last regard. After graduating from PIFA, Lance had relented to his father’s wishes and took the production assistant position with Kennedy & Collins’ art department. And since everything Justin Taylor touched turned to gold, Dick wasn’t about to let him steal an opportunity from Lance. Dick made sure Justin’s experience at the agency was strictly hands off.

 

Justin spent most of his time sequestered in the furthest copy room, faxing, scanning, copying, three floors from all the creativity and notice of anyone else in the company.

 

But it was good money. And it wasn’t what Justin wanted to do anyway. If he wanted to do advertising art, he could always go back to Br…

 

Now he could cover rent until Rene found something better than Starbuck’s. Or better yet, landed a big juicy lead in a musical.

 

Justin took his career at Kennedy & Collins into his own hands when he took the elevator up to the twentieth floor and walked through the main lobby with an arm full of copies and disks. Katie, the receptionist smiled at his defiance and gave him a nod as he walk back toward the art department.

 

Surprise, surprise, Dick Campbell had an office all to himself, apart from the rest of the art directors. A strategic banishment cleverly disguised as a perk of seniority.

 

Justin’s cubicle was the small desk away from the window. Dick stood over Lance’s shoulder at the front of the office, frustrated as ever. Justin went to the task of sorting through his work, his heart going out to Lance. Not every artist has the ability to give other people’s ideas form. Dick could harp on perspective and composition as much as he liked, but Lance was just a guy that lived in his head so much, that he had to find a way to get those dragons and warriors out. “What is it with fathers who just won’t accept their kids for who the are?”

 

“Taylor!”

 

Justin looked up from his work, realized his lips were just moving. “Shit.”

 

He turned to meet Dick’s fury. The middle-aged man was tall with a bad toupee, wearing a very expensive gray suit that he didn’t bother to have tailored to his unusual shape.

 

“You wanna repeat that non-work related comment?” Dick asked smoldering.

 

“I-I-I didn’t say anything,” Justin stammered.

 

“I’m sure I heard a sound coming from your direction,” Dick continued, folding his arms on his chest.

 

“Must be all this paper I’m shuffling,” Justin answered cheerfully. “I’ll try to keep it down.”

 

“You’re alright Justin,” Lance stood, taller than his father. He pushed his glasses onto his nose and scratched nervously at his wild brown hair. “Don’t worry Dad, I caught all of that. But explain to me again why the client gets the final say?”

 

Dick turned back to his son. “Because they’re the client.”

 

“Oh, right.”

 

“You just have to remember, there’s a way to make things look three dimensional without a fancy graphic design program,” Dick turned his attention back to the drawing board.

 

Thank you, Justin mouthed to Lance.

 

Welcome, Lance mouthed back.

 

And just over Lance’s shoulder, Brian walked past the doorway.

 

Justin’s heart skipped a beat. _Wait. No._

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“Taylor!”

 

“What?” Justin snapped to attention.

 

“What’s the matter with you?” Dick demanded.

 

Justin stared at the doorway. No one was there, no one else passed by. “Nothing. Nothing.”

 

“Have you finished copying those prints yet?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Justin tried to give Dick his full attention, but his eyes kept drifting to the door.

 

_Get a grip. Like Brian’s the only person in the world with brown hair that wears Armani._

 

“Both sets?”

 

Justin followed Dick’s pointing finger to the new stack of pages by the door, and suddenly, the world began to go back to normal.

 

Justin stepped slowly into the hall, looked down the corridor, spooked. The hall was alive with sound, but only a few people crossed the intersecting hall, quickly, laughing, arms filled.

 

“Taylor.”

 

Justin wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there. He was fairly sure he would be the first man at Kennedy & Collins to be fired for not paying attention.

 

“The back stairs is that way.”

 

“I know I just…”

 

“How many times do I have to tell you? We need to use all the toner in that clunker on the seventeenth floor before I get my new Xerox. So what are you waiting for?”

 

“Dad, we don’t even need them until tomorrow, right?” Lance tried.

 

“You concentrate on what you’re doing.”

 

 

 

_Get a grip._

 

Justin thought he was through with the days of seeing Brian around every corner. Hearing his voice order a double non-fat latte at coffee shops. Having his ears perk up whenever someone used the word “loft”.

 

The copier buzzed rudely. Paper jam.

 

Justin hated this fucking copier. Standing in the half lit hall, he checked all the red arrows on the small console, never finding the jam. When in doubt, turn copier off and on. The console flashed silently, red and green and blue lights. Warming up.

 

Justin’s thoughts got louder with the absolute silence of the deserted office. He never went back to Pittsburgh. What for? Just like Los Angeles, he had nothing to show for his latest excellent adventure. A fucking glowing review in a national art magazine and he couldn’t even…

 

The elevator doors down the hall opened.

 

“… late than never.”

 

Justin’s breath caught in his throat.

 

Brian Kinney backed into view down the hall. The hand that pushed him against the wall belonged to Adam Lyons, one of the partners.

 

It was Brian. The facial hair was new. Justin could not remember ever seeing him bearded. The suit was new but the way it hung on his body, the way he moved, was undeniable.

 

“You know what they say,” Adam commented, working Brian’s belt and pants open. “Absence makes the dick grow harder.”

 

Brian chuckled. “Don’t you think you may have your proverbs crossed?”

 

Adam, also suited and dark-haired, kissed Brian hard. “I know one thing I can get right.” Adam trailed kisses down Brian’s chest, pulling at his shirt.

 

Brian grabbed for Adam’s arms as he sank to his knees. “Adam, listen-”

 

The copier awoke with a loud rumble and Justin jumped half out of his skin. He fumbled for the right button to quiet the machine, but the ancient machine would not be silenced. He looked up to see both men looking at him.

 

Even from down the dim hall, Justin could see Brian’s smile emerge. Magical, genuine. “Hey.”

 

Justin lived in the unexpected euphoria of having Brian look at him again. Probing, desirous. He missed that. “Hey.”

 

“What the hell are you up to down here?” Adam said as the men fixed their clothing.

 

Justin remembered he was in the presence of a partner and found his voice. “Ah, Dick, I mean, ah, Mr. Campbell needs color copies of-”

 

“That was a rhetorical question. Now get the fuck out of here.”

 

Brian walked towards Justin, his smile getting bigger. “Is that any way to treat the hired help?”

 

“It’s the only way. The art department has more PAs trolling around than they know what to do with.”

 

“This one is hardly a troll.”

 

Brian reached his arm around Justin and pulled him into a hug. Justin hugged back, but kept his eyes trained on Adam, watching them at the end of the hall. Before Justin could determine if he was fired for hugging the clients, Brian planted a big wet kiss on his lips. He held Justin to him, kissing him so hard he had Justin bent over the copier.

 

Justin’s body quickly remembered Brian’s touch. With Adam instantly forgotten, Justin wrapped his arms around Brian’s neck and leaned into the kiss. Strong, warm. His hand in Brian’s hair. No need to breathe. Right.

 

When they part, they stay in each other’s arms, taking in the sight of each other, grinning stupidly. Together, they looked back at Adam.

 

“Lyons, can I have a raincheck on lunch?”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

“You can’t be serious,” Brian yelled, talking over the traffic.

 

“It’s tradition. You come to New York, you have a hot dog in a street corner,” Justin answered, rubbing his hands together, watching the vendor prepare his hot dog before him.

 

“I’ve been to New York before. And I’ve tried what the local folk call a hot dog. I’d rather eat my Gucci loafers.”

 

“It’s cheap and hot and fast.”

 

“The starving artist’s diet.”

 

“Tastes even better when you’re paying.” Justin took his meal and strolled away.

 

Brian quickly dug a ten out of his pocket and pretended to wait for the change. It gave him a chance to see Justin in the daylight. His black coat and knit scarf were old, but they seemed to be keeping the blistering wind out. No saving his red nose and cheeks from the cold though. He let his hair grow out again. Like it was during the days of Stockwell and…

 

_Fuck his hair! He seems fine. Doing just fine without me._

 

Brian waved his change back to the vendor and joined Justin under a bus canopy away from the curb.

 

“So how are you?”

 

Justin nodded, stuffing the sauerkraut covered hot dog into his mouth.

 

“I miss you,” Brian said plainly.

 

Justin stopped chewing, surprised. With kraut hanging out of his mouth, he mumbled “Me too.”

 

“You didn’t come to your birthday bash.”

 

"I can’t afford to go anywhere right now.”

 

“You could if you used the plane ticket I sent you.”

 

“I didn’t get it, I moved.”

 

“It was an electronic ticket Justin.”

 

Justin averted his eyes and took another bite of his lunch.

 

The bus arrived and an elderly woman with a shopping cart slowly climbed aboard. Brian waited for the bus to pull away. “You didn’t come last year either.”

 

“I thought that was just to re-open Babylon.”

 

“Would it have made a difference?”

 

Justin finished chewing the last bite of his hot dog. He tried to think of a response that didn’t sound lame. All the ones he heard in his head sucked, so he just looked at his feet, stamping the cold from his toes.

 

“Look, your mother didn’t even know where you were. Are you trying to fall off the map?”

 

“Not exactly.”

 

“Then what? You stopped using the bank account I set up for you.”

 

“Things just haven’t worked out the way I thought they would,” Justin blurted out impatiently. “I still have to pay you back for school.”

 

“We already worked that out. You pay me back when you can.”

 

“I’m going to,” Justin insisted.

 

“I know you are,” Brian answered. “But in the meantime…”

 

“In the meantime, I need to make it on my own. I can’t do that as long as I’m letting you help me.”

 

“It’s just help Justin. You’re doing the hard part.”

 

“I can’t take your money anymore!”

 

The street was suddenly quiet. Justin’s words carried to the vendor on the corner, who tried not to look, but failed.

 

Brian sighed. “You realize this pride thing you’ve acquired is contrary to the entire starving artist credo?”

 

Justin smiled, grateful Brian was letting it drop. “I know.”

 

Brian brought his gloves from his pocket and put them on. “Fine. When are you going to invite me over for dinner?”

 

Justin hesitated. “My place really isn’t set up for visitors.”

 

Brian cocked his head to the side curiously, before putting his sunglasses on. “I’m family.”

 

Brian’s indignant tone made Justin laugh. Family… “Oh Shit!”

 

“What?”

 

“I have to go,” Justin said, digging his watch out through layers of coat and clothing.

 

Brian checked his watch as well. “Justin, you’ve been gone all of twelve minutes.”

 

“I know, I’m late,” Justin said, backing away.

 

“Dinner tonight.”

 

“Can’t. I have a second job.”

 

“Lunch tomorrow,” Brian tried.

 

Justin stopped at the corner and thought for a moment. “It’s a date.”

 

Brian watched the steam drift from Justin’s smile before the young man turned and dashed across the street. He waited until Justin disappeared among the legions of suits and overcoats lining Madison Avenue.

 

Satisfaction overtook Brian and pushed its way to the surface in the form of a silly grin. “It’s a date.”


	4. Reeling

  
Author's notes: **Summary:** Justin's long day journeys into night. **Contains Spoilers for QAF Eps.# 507.  
**  


* * *

To download any of the song quoted in each chapter, please visit **["Wanting Soundtrack"](http://www.livejournal.com/users/keisha7/10422.html)** , a music companion page.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

 

_Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock_

__

 

_He cringed. He meant to knock harder, but not that hard. The pane seemed ready to break. It was hard to judge with bags weighing down his shoulders. He just meant to knock a little harder than the last time._

__

 

_Stillness._

__

 

_He didn’t want to knock a third time. Maybe it was too late._

__

 

_The front door flew open. “Hunter?”_

__

 

_“No Ben, it’s just me.”_

__

 

_“Justin?”_

__

 

_“Sorry.”_

__

 

_“For what…”_

__

 

_“I know it’s late...”_

__

 

_Ben came to his senses and stepped back from the doorway. “It’s fine. Come in, come in.”_

__

 

_“Who is it Ben?” Like his husband, Michael stood barefooted in a T-shirt and pajama bottoms._

__

 

_“Hey Michael,” Justin said quietly._

__

 

_“Justin? What are you doing here?”_

__

 

_His lips parted to speak. Nothing came out. He swallowed hard, tried again. “I left him.”_

__

 

_The words seemed to take his last breath. His bags slid off his shoulders. The silence was so loud and he felt so empty.  
Hollowed out._

__

 

_Couldn’t breathe._

__

 

_He saw the surprise on Michael’s face, followed by something else he couldn’t make sense of.  
He sensed the men exchange looks._

__

 

_Couldn’t believe what he had just said. What he had just done._

__

 

_Justin didn’t know how long he just stood there, but suddenly realized he couldn’t stand there forever.  
“I was hoping I could crash on your couch. Maybe stay a few days, till I figure out what I’m gonna do.”_

__

 

_“Sure, you can stay in Hunter’s room.”_

__

 

_From the corner of his eye, Justin saw Ben look at Michael.  
Couldn’t figure out what it meant, but knew it meant something._

__

 

_“I only need the couch. Just for a day or two.”_

__

 

_“Don’t be silly. It’s no problem. Right Ben?”_

__

 

_Justin watched Ben fix a suitable expression on his face. “Of course, of course.”_

__

 

_Ben gave Justin’s shoulder a brief pat and grabbed his oversized duffle, heading upstairs._

__

 

_Michael put a hand on Justin’s shoulder as well. Was he still standing in the middle of their living room?_

__

 

_“Thanks,” Justin managed._

__

 

_“Sure,” Michael answered, trying not to yawn. He picked up Justin’s second bag and gave his shoulder a squeeze.  
“Are you OK?”_

__

 

_Michael’s words echoed in Justin’s head, searching for a place to sink in._

__

 

_So empty. “I don’t know.”_

 

 

 

 

“You do a good job.”

 

Justin looked up from what he was doing.

 

“Tedious I know. But must be done.”

 

“A little praise goes a long way,” Justin answered.

 

It was the twelfth hour today that he stood hunched over a table working. With cloth gloves and white cotton rag in hand, Justin wound film from one reel of the bench to the other, sliding the film itself through the cloth in the middle, cleaning it.

 

Loading 2000-foot rolls of celluloid onto the arms of the bench was cumbersome; running it across the specially treated cloth was mindless at best. But occasionally, Justin would look at the film as it ran through his hands. He would slow down and admire the composition of each frame, fantasize that Scorsese himself would one day shake his hand, and thank him for his contribution to the preservation of America’s great films. Meanwhile, he had three more reels of _Die Hard_ to clean.

 

“Full house tonight?” Justin teased.

 

Mr. Sarkassian looked out the booth window onto the empty theater. “As usual.”

 

“The Bruce Willis Tribute continues.”

 

“He’s given us many great films.”

 

“And many bad ones.”

 

“No one’s perfect.”

 

Aldo Sarkassian was a skin-and-bones, 64 year-old with frizzle gray hair. As proprietor of the vintage moviehouse, he wore gray slacks and suspenders everyday, only varying his wardrobe with the shirt he wore with them. He sported a gray handlebar mustache and brown bug-eyed glasses. His accent always had Justin listening for context clues rather than even trying to understand what the man was actually saying the first time. He was a good soul who loved movies and Justin was happy to work for him, doing anything that needed to be done around the theater.

 

“At the request of lovely Miss Lydia, I have acquired two Bruce Willis classics. Fun fare for the whole family. Listen to this,” Aldo began proudly, holding a slip of paper far enough away from his face so he could read it. “See Bruce Willis in a bunny suit, in the hilarious fantasy comedy _North_. Featuring from _Lord of the Rings_ fame, Elijah Wood. Next, Bruce teams up with Brooklyn’s own Danny Aeillo in the wacky comic crime caper _Hudson Hawk_.”

 

“Lydia asked you to get these movies?” Justin asked doubtfully.

 

“She asked for films she could bring the kids to for the Friday Night Movie Club.”

 

“Family Friday Night Movies. That’s new.”

 

Aldo raised his hands in praise, then hugged himself. “Lydia is an extremely smart woman.  
I would marry her one day.”

 

“If you both weren’t already married,” Justin corrected him.

 

Aldo throws his hands up again. “Well, yes, there is that. Andy tells me you just had a birthday.”

 

“Oh, yeah.”

 

“Oh yeah? You came to work and didn’t say anything!”

 

Justin fixed his eyes on the reel he was cleaning. “I can use the money. Besides, I celebrated after I got home.”

 

Aldo reached out and stopped the spinning reel from letting film. “It’s not OK. Did I do something wrong?”

 

“What do you mean? Of course not.”

 

“Don’t your care what people think of me? They will think I’m a tyrant, a real jerk, for not giving you the night off.”

 

“I told you-”

 

“Ah-tah-tah! Take tomorrow off. With pay. And don’t do that again. You understand?”

 

Justin smiled in spite of himself. “Yeah, I understand.”

 

Aldo takes the cloth from Justin’s hands. “Good. Now go home. Go!”

 

 

 

Just ten blocks. Bitter cold. Halloween decorations still hanging in most of the storefronts.  
Way too much time alone with his thoughts.

 

_What is he doing here?_

_It’s not like anything’s changed._  
Except this amazing career that was supposed to be waiting for me here.  
Lindsay was wrong. I’m just one of thousands. Faceless thousands. 

_I can’t stand the thought of going back.  
Empty handed. A failure twice._

_And I’d still never be enough for him._

_If you love someone set them free, if they don’t come back…  
But what if they do…_

 

Justin glanced up and saw his computer in the window of Sal’s Pawnshop. The same silent greeting, the same silent patience. He’d be making enough money soon. Enough to buy new software too. One more month.

 

The usual dozen played basketball on the playground next to the building tonight. Another remainder that he was off early. They played ball on the asphalt court with the netless hoop year round, well into the evening, timing out only for heavy rain. Justin figured they probably didn’t feel the cold. They were playing too hard, too intensely.

 

Justin made brief eye contact with his neighbor Craig. True to his namesake, Craig “didn’t approve” of Justin’s lifestyle. Justin found out that Craig was a real God-fearing man when he made the mistake of talking to Craig’s son, who was a good kid, bright. The fact that Justin was “one of the homosexuals upstairs” didn’t deter the young man from speaking. Nevertheless, Justin kept his distance from the boy.

 

Justin pushed his way into the building after the usual fight with the rusting lock, dancing around floorboards and prodded the elevator into moving with adequate abuse to the five button.

 

Apartment 5C was quiet and dark. Justin checked the lock as he walked by. Princess must be at her girlfriend’s place night. Three flights later, Justin pushed his way into his apartment.

 

_But my dreams they aren't as empty_  
As my conscience seems to be  
I have hours, only lonely  
My love is vengeance  
That's never free 

 

The kitchen light spilled into the living room. As always, Justin set his portfolio against the back of the sofa beside Rene’s jacket. The TV wasn’t going as usual. If Rene had known Justin would be home early, he would have been sitting on the couch, surfing the four channels their rabbit ears could pick up, waiting up for him.

 

Justin’s eyes drifted about the sparsely furnished apartment, too drained to decide what to do. He was hungry but eating required cooking, at the very least microwaving, so that was out. He looked at the picture window overlooking the playground, and smiled sadly.

 

Last week, Justin had “borrowed” some packing tape from work and went after every crack and draft coming from the aged window with a vengeance. He wasn’t about to have a repeat of the terrible flu Rene caught from the drafty apartment last year. He could tell the difference. It did feel a little warmer now. However, sealing the window so well meant no more rooftop rendez-vous for a while.

 

_No one knows what its like_  
To feel these feelings  
Like I do, and I blame you! 

 

It also meant no painting for a while. Justin stared at the fire escape, feeling the guilt. He should be painting. He should at least try. Maybe once he could secure more tape from work…

 

Justin slipped his shoes off at the bedroom door. It was even warm enough for Justin to change into his one pair of warm pajamas without rushing against the cold. He carefully eased under the blanket where Rene already laid, still. He waited a moment before finally settling into bed, lying on his back, trying to let the day’s events drain away from his thoughts.

 

_No one know how to say_  
That they're sorry and don't worry  
I'm not telling lies 

 

“You forgot to kiss me.”

 

Justin opened his eyes, turned his head slightly. “I thought you were sleep.”

 

Rene turned on his side, looking at Justin wide-eyed. “How can anyone sleep with that musica so loud?”

 

Justin leaned forward and kissed Rene’s cheek. “You want me to go talk to them?”

 

“No. Save that for if she ever starts playing Britney Spears.”

 

“You met her?”

 

“No.”

 

“But you still think it’s a she?” Justin mused.

 

Rene shrugged slightly. “Look at the songs she plays. No one understands me, no one loves me.”

 

“Could be worse. Could be country.”

 

Rene sat up on his elbow, leaning on Justin’s chest. “I like country music. Shania Twain.”

 

“Reba McIntire?”

 

Rene frowned. “Who’s that?”

 

“Nevermind,” Justin chuckled.

 

Silence filled the room, shortly followed by that same guitar melody starting up another interval.

 

_No one knows what it's like_  
To be the bad man  
To be the sad man  
[Behind blue eyes](http://www.livejournal.com/users/keisha7/10422.html#cutid1)

 

“They offered me manager at work,” Rene began cautiously. “Two people are leaving end of this week. I have…  
¿Como se dice ah… I’ve been there the longest of anyone.”

 

Justin rubbed Rene’s hair soothingly. It was falling onto his shoulder now. “That’s great. But what about acting?”

 

“They said they would work around my auditions.”

 

“They say that now…”

 

“It would be more money,” Rene added, more of a question than a statement. “I could start holding my own weight around here.”

 

“Don’t worry about that. You do what you want.”

 

Rene stared into Justin’s face, looking for approval. Justin did his best to give it with a smile, still stroking his hair.

 

_And no one knows_  
What it's like to be hated  
To be fated to telling only lies 

 

“There was another notice on the door today. Asking for repairs. We’re gonna have to leave, aren’t we?”

 

“No,” Justin lied with confidence.

 

“But you said they can’t raise rent unless they fix the building. Looks like they’re gonna do it this time.”

 

“I doubt it. It’ll be just like the last two times. They’ll see how much needs to be done, weigh it with the cost, freak out and sell the building again to someone else.”

 

“I’ll do like last time. Make it two pages long.”

 

“Shoot for three.”

 

Justin hoped it would be just like the last times. There were already more notes and communications than any other investment company that had acquired the building in the past. But just because they are good at generating paperwork doesn’t mean anything. They still haven’t done anything to fix the building. That would make it real. That would make Justin worry.

 

_But my dreams they aren't as empty  
As my conscience seems to be_

 

“Where are you?”

 

Justin looked over again, realized Rene was watching him think. “Work.”

 

“Mr. Sarkassian?”

 

“Kennedy-Collins.”

 

“Did something happen?”

 

Justin shook his head. “The usual.”

 

“You should leave. They hate you there,” Rene said. Justin could hear the pain in his voice, like he felt the frustration too.

 

“It’s just one guy.”

 

“Then he should leave,” Rene concluded seriously.

 

“I’ll get right on that.”

 

Rene inched closer. “I just want you to be happy Daddy.” Justin watched a sudden grin spring forth on Rene’s lips, followed by a hand on his dick. “I know how.”

 

Rene tunneled under the blanket and Justin relaxed back onto his flattened pillow, trying to comprehend his day. Feeling the familiar fatigue of working two jobs for three months now. Remembering the kiss at the copier a little too fondly. The site of Brian. Having Brian touch him again.

 

He had a date. He had called it that, a date. And not with the guy whose lips were around his cock.  



	5. Wanting Yesterday

  
Author's notes: **Summary:** Brian's bite of the Big Apple. (un-Beta'ed, sorry)  


* * *

To download any of the songs quoted in each chapter, please visit **["Wanting Soundtrack"](http://www.livejournal.com/users/keisha7/10422.html)** , a music companion page.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

 

_It's autumn in New York_  
that brings the promise of new love.  
Autumn in NewYork is  
often mingled with pain.  
Dreamers with empty hands  
may sigh for exotic lands;  
it's autumn in New York;  
it's good to live again. 

_**~[ "Autumn in New York" ](http://www.livejournal.com/users/keisha7/10422.html)\- Billie Holiday** _

 

 

 

“Convince me.”

 

Brian waved away the drink Adam Lyons offered him. He took in the magnificent view of Midtown again. He was being promised the exact same view; exact same office just one floor up.

 

“What would it take, Brian?”

 

Brian turned back to see Adam opening his humidor, the strong smell of tobacco rising innocently from the cigars within.

 

Again, Brian shook his head no. “More than Monte Cristos and scotch. But you’re certainly off to a strong start.”

 

Adam replaced the box on his desk. He sat behind his sparsely dressed desk, sitting back majestically in his exquisite leather chair. “How about my word and respect?”

 

Brian settled into his chair as well, crossing his legs, ready to engage. “Is your word worth any more than it was the last time we had this conversation?”

 

“I’m partner now.”

 

“And I have my own agency now. There are no words for how fucking great business has been.” Brian brushed a wrinkle from the sleeve of his suit. He wanted to make sure he was the image of perfection, and that Adam knew.

 

“Stealing Brown Athletics and Ramson Pharmaceuticals from Vanguard was priceless.”

 

“They were never his to begin with. I landed those accounts, not Gardner.”

 

“It must feel great to be grinning back at Vance, and all those other bastards who never appreciated you from the inside of Forbes Magazine.” Adam reached for a cigar and lit it silently, giving Brian time to think of his response.

 

Brian didn’t need long. Hiding his surprise expertly he said, “That article’s not published yet.”

 

“I have my sources,” Adam smirked.

 

“I assume you count yourself among those bastards?”

 

“Brian, I told you, at the time, it wasn’t up to me. Now it is. By partnering with Kennedy & Collins, you’d be unstoppable.”

 

“I already am.”

 

“You’d be the richest fag in the entire state of Pennsylvania.”

 

“Already am,” Brian sang bored.

 

“You could finally move to New York where you belong. Oversee the Pittsburgh office from here.”

 

Brian didn’t retort this time. Seeing his opportunity, Adam abandoned his cigar and rounded the desk, leaning into Brian confidently. “Brian, as a partner with Kennedy & Collins, you’ll be creating campaigns for the big boys. Lockheed Martin. Microsoft. Nike. Howard Dean.”

 

“I wouldn’t brag about that if I were you,” Brian answered finally.

 

“Donald Cornell is ready to sign next week. With Kinnetic on board, we’ll be the youngest and largest advertising firm on the east coast.”

 

Brian looked out the wall of glass again. Bundled brown dots, bopping along the street. “Well, as you know, my tastes have always run more towards the European.”

 

Brian knew Adam sensed progress when he stopped leaning in, shifting to a less imposing position. “That’s what I love about you Brian, you don’t think big. You think enormous.”

 

“What’s the fucking point if you don’t?”

 

Adam moved back behind his desk, stabbed out his cigar. “I can’t really talk about it yet. Not until you’re on board, but… Two words: London and Italy.”

 

Brian chuckled. “You have done well for yourself Adam.”

 

“So have you. That’s why we want you. I want you.”

 

Brian sighed, looking past Adam to the ink splash on the wall that most people would probably call a painting. “Kinnetic. It’s a great name.”

 

“You can keep the name. It will all be under the Kennedy-Collins umbrella. Frankly, I think Cornell would prefer the Kinnetic banner for the Miami Office.”

 

“You’ve given me a lot to think about. Can I sleep on it?”

 

“Sleep away. Take the week. I know it’s a big decision. But you can’t imagine the opportunities that are waiting for you here.”

 

“Still?” Brian remarked standing.

 

Adam reached out and shook Brian’s hand. “Still.”

 

 

 

“You’ll excuse me won’t you Adam,” Brian said as the elevator doors opened.

 

“Rushing off to a hot date?” Adam asked, following Brian to the lobby.

 

“Lunch. And it better be hot considering how fucking cold it is outside.” Brian smiled at Katie the receptionist and said, “Justin Taylor please.”

 

“ _Justin_ Taylor?” Katie repeated with an excited grin.

 

“He’s expecting me,” Brian smiled back sweetly.

 

Adam gave Brian a curious look. “I thought you’d be done with copyboy by now.”

 

“Not quite.”

 

Behind Adam, Brian’s eye fell onto a small figure way down the hall as it popped into view. His smile beaming, his tie flying, Justin waved briefly and disappeared again.

 

“What happened to fuck ‘em and leave ‘em Kinney.”

 

“Justin’s the guy I fuck more than once.” Brian looking at Adam pointedly. “I’m surprised he’s not doing more than trolling for your art department, considering his talent.”

 

“No shit?”

 

Brian couldn’t fight the smile that erupted when he saw Justin coming up the hall towards him, dancing awkwardly to get his coats onto his shoulders.

 

“Unless, of course, you wanna wait five years to get your hands on him too.”

 

“Hey,” Justin said shyly. “Hello. Mr. Lyons.”

 

“Adam, I’m curious. When did this company shortened the employee lunch hour to twelve minutes?”

 

Justin gave Brian’s arm a tug while Adam looked suspiciously from copyboy to Brian and back. It took a second, but Adam got Brian’s point. “Justin. I’ll let Richard know you’ll be back in an hour.”

 

“Thanks.” Justin said quietly. Walking out, Justin jabbed Brian in the side. “Asshole! I just got this job. Are you trying to get me fired?”

 

“Doing my best.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

“Jesus Christ!”

 

They had barely settled down to eat.

 

“What is it?”

 

Bought newspapers to keep their asses from freezing on the stone-hard wooden benches.

 

“This sandwich.”

 

Justin seemed so proud when ordering for him.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

He wanted hot food. But this was turning out to be much better.

 

“It’s fucking incredible.”

 

Brian watched Justin smile with relief. He simply loved fucking with Justin. It was easy.

 

_He still cares so much. About the smallest fucking things. About lunch._

 

“It’s good isn’t it?” Justin answered, his eyebrows bouncing with pride.

 

“Fucking amazing.”

 

“It’s organic,” Justin explained. “ ‘wichcraft has all sorts of specialties. Every time I have that, the turkey & bacon with avocado, I think of you. It’s like the only organic food I’ve ever eaten that doesn’t suck.”

 

“Organic food is supposed to taste like shit. That way you starve the shit out of yourself and never get fat, thus retaining your girlish figure. But this-”

 

“Is fucking incredible,” Justin finished Brian’s sentence, his mouth full with his own sandwich.

 

“You come here a lot?”

 

“Special occasions. When I got this job. That’s how I found the place. Whenever Dick works from home. Oh and then there’s that small detail of having the extra cash.”

 

“I’ll have to pick you up a book of gift certificates. Only redeemable for turkey & bacon with avocado, the sandwich that makes you think of me. I am allowed to buy you gift certificates, aren’t I?”

 

“I will never turn down food.”

 

“It’s nice to know some things haven’t change.”

 

Brian watched Justin stop himself from saying the next thing. He watched Justin nod and continued chewing. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you to the organic hotdog stand on the other side. You won’t believe the advances being made in tofu these days.”

 

“Tomorrow?”

 

“Maybe. Sure, why not. If you’re still around,” Justin said, in a way that made Brian think he was trying to shrug off any special importance his statement might have.

 

But it was important. Justin wanted to see him again. That was very good. Something not to be taken lightly, however off-handed Justin may have said it.

 

“And if I can actually get a lunch hour three days in a row,” Justin added sarcasticly.

 

“Is that so unusual?”

 

“It would be a first,” Justin insisted.

 

“Then how about dinner tonight?”

 

“You mean-”

 

“I mean invite me over.”

 

Justin dug his fingers into his gloved hands. Fixed his eyes on the second half of his sandwich. “It’s a great space. It’s huge. It’s just kind of a dump.”

 

“Well, we all have to start somewhere,” Brian replied, hoping Justin would look at him. He did, with a guarded, childlike apprehension that Brian had not seen from him in years. Justin’s need for his approval seemed to have returned. He wondered if Justin could see his need as easily.  
“Here, allow me.”

 

Brian reached into his breast pocket and produced a pen and business card. Justin finally grabbed them when Brian began waving them in his face.

 

“And it’s kind of in a shaky neighborhood,” Justin commented, writing. “You know how in Pittsburgh there are parts of town where you go one block and you’re in prima suburbia. Then you go another block on the same street and you’re in the hood?”

 

“I seem to remember those haunts.”

 

“That’s where I live.” Justin handed the pen and card back.

 

“Good, then I’ve been there before.” Brian studied the address a long moment.

 

“Just try not to expect too much.”

 

“The mothers are expecting a full report. If I go back to Pittsburgh without one-”

 

“Debbie’ll have your balls?”

 

“You got it.”

 

Brian watched the thought of Debbie fill Justin’s face with joy. He decided to let the lull settle between them. Silently, they each began sipping on their soup and tea.

 

The park was a rectangular quad with patches of grass and trees, clusters of kiosks and vendors, statues standing tall, frozen in action. A wave of people crossed the park every five to seven minutes, probably from a subway stop near by.

 

Brian didn’t see the moment Justin’s nose and cheeks turned red. But he didn’t shiver or fidget as if the cold bothered him. Maybe he had gotten used to it, just like all the other bundled New Yorkers who lunched in the park. Why the fuck else would they not be eating indoors. Brian knew why he felt warm all over.

 

“So you’re doing OK?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

They both knew Justin had answered too quickly. Brian figured that was why Justin immediately pushed his face into his cup of soup. Brian sipped his own tea, watching, waiting.

 

A new wave of people cross the quad. A black haired hottie stops at the magazine stand directly behind Justin.

 

“I’m a couple months behind in my rent, but I’m catching up. With this new job-”

 

“A couple months and you still have a place to live?” Brian interrupted, hoping he had averted his eyes before Justin noticed. “What kind of New York landlord lets rent slide for a couple months?”

 

“The absentee kind that doesn’t know the tenants from the squatters.”

 

Brian steals a glance over Justin’s shoulder. The hottie sees him. Stares even. Determined not to be distracted, Brian refocuses on Justin. “Oh, so it’s that kind of building.”

 

Justin shrugged. “Well we’ve all gotta start somewhere.” Justin smiled, but Brian didn’t smile back. “What?”

 

“I miss you.” Brian takes his hands and rubs them gently against Justin’s face. It doesn’t help, his face stays red as ever. Maybe it’s not the cold.

 

Justin’s gaze falls to the table again, his hair flops into his eyes, his voice drops to a whisper. “You said that already.”

 

“It bears repeating.”

 

Brian stared, waiting for Justin to look at him again.

 

With a final glance Brian’s way, Hottie tucks a paper under his arm and begins to walk towards the street.

 

Brian had to make a choice.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Justin knew what Brian was doing. Wearing him down with that burning gaze. After all these years, he still had no armor against the pull Brian had on him. Couldn’t look up. Wouldn’t be able to resist. Didn’t know what he wanted.

 

_What is he doing here?_

 

“I’ll see you tonight. About eight?”

 

The pull eased when Brian stood. Justin braved a glance into Brian’s eyes. “Sure.”

 

“Should I bring anything?” Brian asked quickly.

 

“What goes well with tuna fish?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Then we’re set.”

 

Brian gave Justin a quick kiss on the side of the head and walked away, tossing his garbage in the nearest bin.

 

“Brian!” Justin heard himself call after him. He watched Brian spin around with his complete attention. He looked so different with a beard. It made him look older while the long hair made him look younger. The combination projected fascination contradiction, a knowing youth. Regardless, he still looked good. Hot. He was still magnetic. “I miss you too.”

 

“You already said that.”

 

Justin fixed Brian’s final grin in his mind as Brian skipped away quickly, maybe trying to catch that bus approaching the corner. He didn’t even look at his watch. He must be late for…

 

But why would Brian be taking public transportation…?

 

Justin looked back and saw him. A dark haired guy in a long coat with a newspaper under his arm.

 

He glanced back at Brian. Tall, dark, smoldering good looks. Exactly what Brian liked.  
They both got on the same bus.

 

Justin looked away, kicking himself. “Some things don’t change.”

 

“Hey Daddy,” Rene said, sitting down at Justin’s table.

 

“Hey.” Justin couldn’t help look around for Brian and evidence of his lunch date. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I just got off the train. I was coming to visit you and here you are! You went to lunch early today,” Rene smiled happily.

 

“Yeah. Want the other half?” Justin offered his sandwich.

 

Rene’s demeanor instantly began serious. “I can’t eat at a time like this.”

 

“At a time like what?”

 

Rene handed Justin a page from his pocket. “There are men in the building. The Craig is with them. He is helping fix the elevator. There’s another note today. It’s a lot more Justin. What does it say?”

 

Justin quickly read the notice while Rene picked the avocado from Justin’s sandwich.

 

“They’ll be in this week to talk to each of the tenants. They’re offering to let us stay into apartments on the same floor that have already been remodeled while they work on the repairs in our unit.

 

“That’s how I understood it too. That’s good right? We won’t have to leave?”

 

“Maybe,” Justin answered, seemingly reading and speaking at the same time. “Maybe they’re hoping once we’re moved to a new unit, we’ll want to stay in it, in which case we’d have to sign a new lease. Maybe it’s a just a ploy to get us out of the apartments voluntarily, so they don’t have to kick us out. But I wouldn’t worry about that. We’re on the eighth floor. It’ll be a while before they get to us.”

 

“But Justin, they’re starting from the top,” Rene protested jamming his fists under his armpits.

 

That was bad. His paintings.

 

Justin thought for a moment then put on his best neutral face. Knowing Rene’s paranoia, there was no way Justin could tell his boyfriend what he was actually think. “Rene, don’t worry, I’ll work it out. I’ll talk to the guy whenever he comes by. Or I’ll call next week. Nothing will happen before next week.”

 

“But they hired the Craig. The Craig hates us,” Rene insisted.

 

“But maybe, if Craig fixes the elevator, he can come by more and get to know us. And then he won’t hate us anymore.”

 

“But what if-”

 

“Rene, I need you to stop asking questions OK? Just quit worrying!”

 

Justin watched Rene’s eyes bug out with surprise. He saw the tears welling and tried to soften the blow of his words with, “Ney… you worry too much. We’re gonna be fine. I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”

 

Justin watched Rene blink back tears before they fell. “It’s just. You didn’t… finish last night.”

 

Justin had forgotten about that.

 

“You always finish.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Didn’t I do it good? Didn’t you like it?”

 

“It was great.”

 

“Then why didn’t you come?” Rene asked frustrated. “I’m worried about you Justin. You let people be mean to you at work. You don’t come like you’re supposed to. And now you’re sitting here alone, eating your sad sandwich. Did I do something wrong?”

 

“Of course not. I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately.”

 

“You wanna talk about it?” Rene asked, his huge green eyes wide and eager.

 

Justin hesitated. “We can talk about it tonight, OK? Just let me get through my day.”

 

Rene took Justin’s hand and nodded. “OK, tonight.”

 

“Now do me a favor, eat my other half,” Justin said, giving Rene a smile.

 

“Wait, has it been twelve minutes?”

 

“I get an hour today.” Justin picked off the last avocado slice and slid the sandwich across the table. “Go on, I wanna watch you eat.”

 

Rene took the sandwich, but paused before taking a bite. “You’ll tell me what’s wrong tonight?”

 

Justin doubted the wisdom of what he just did. But he knew he had already waited too long. He knew it had to be done. Brian and Rene had to be told, even if he didn’t know what he would do afterwards. He only knew forcing himself into this situation would not allow him to avoid it anymore.

 

Regardless of his inner uncertainty, for Rene, Justin repeated himself with conviction, “We can talk about it tonight.”


	6. Prying

  
Author's notes: **Summary:** Brian's day in New York continues.  


* * *

  
_When you're a boy_  
Some days are tough  
Lying on your bed  
Playing punk rock and stuff  
Home is a boot camp  
You gotta escape  
Wanna go and wander  
In the ticker-tape 

_You feel the deal is real  
You're a New York City boy_

_**~ “[New York City Boy](http://www.livejournal.com/users/keisha7/10422.html)” – The Pet Shop Boys** _

 

 

The bus Brian got on was actually an employee shuttle. It stopped at two more corners then parked before  
a white building six blocks from Bryant Park where he left an amazing sandwich and the best company he had  
had in a long while with Justin.

 

He followed tall, dark and handsome into the building and hesitated when they came to a security gate just inside  
the entrance. People were flashing badges to pass through. Mr. Hottie turned right and went up the stairs.  
Brian followed.

 

They ended up in an office midway down the second floor, seemingly invisible to the people milling about.  
The office only housed a file cabinet, a desk and chair, and two couches against the walls. Mr. Hottie dropped  
his paper on the desk and immediately drew the binds shut.

 

“As someone who’s done this sort of thing before I have to say, we past at least four perfectly good back alleys  
on the way over here,” Brian joked, stripping off his coat and gloves.

 

“Back alleys hardly exude propriety or dignity.”

 

“A stickler for formality, are we?”

 

“Was that your boyfriend?” Hottie asked, washing his hands in a sink Brian hadn’t noticed until he heard the water.

 

“And if he was?”

 

“Maybe you should ask him to join us.”

 

“Maybe _you_ should ask him to join us.”

 

Hottie crossed to Brian standing in the middle of the room, drying his hands absently. “Just a suggestion.”

 

“Thanks. Now let me give you one.” Brian dropped his pants.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Brian climbed from the back of his chauffeur-driven towncar and looked both ways before crossing the street.  
He sipped on his latte and took a good look at the building. It was the only apartment building on a block of  
rowhouses. Six kids of various shades of brown played basketball on what appeared to have been a playground  
once. Discarded broken bottles and trash lined the perimeter of the single basket court. Used fast food cartons  
were strewn about everywhere. But the important area, the actual playing field, was completely debris free.

 

Brian ignored the tiny parental inkling that wondered why these kids weren’t in school and spat out a mouthful  
of latte into the street. It was terrible. It was dishwater. It was Starbuck’s. How can someone fuck up Starbuck’s?  
It’s like fucking up McDonald’s for Christ sake.

 

Brian was looking for a place to toss the coffee when he noticed the brown boy watching him. Brian stood frozen  
with the dilemma of whether he would litter himself, or set an example in front of the child. Then the boy pointed  
to his right, to the green dumpster at the corner of the building. “Thanks.”

 

Brian happily dumped the coffee and gave his surroundings a second look. The building towered over the houses  
around it. The street was empty and quiet with the exception of players’ banter coming from the playground. A white  
van sat in front of the building, Liberty Investments stenciled on each side. And all the while, the young boy watched  
from the steps.

 

“Do you live here?” Brian asked, rubbing his gloved hands together for warmth.

 

“I do.”

 

“So you probably have a key?”

 

“I do.”

 

“What’s your name?”

 

The boy smiled for the first time. A mischievous pearly white smile. “You can call me Mr. President.”

 

Brian paused, wondering if that was code. He reached for his wallet. “Alexander Hamilton or Andrew Jackson?”

 

“Alex Hamilton wasn’t a president.”

 

“I’ll take your word for it.” Brian frowned and handed the boy a twenty-dollar bill. “Now, can you help me out?”

 

Mr. President stood and stuffed the money into the pocket of his gray coat. He climbed the few steps and pulls  
the unlocked door open. Brian gives him a pointed look.

 

Mr. President shrugged. “You have to ask the right questions.”

 

“I’ll remember that.”

 

Three steps into the entryway, Brian’s foot went through the floor. He caught himself before the board cracked  
all the way, and hopped aside. The corridor was painted black and the only light coming from the front door  
filtered through the window’s thick wiry grate. Before him, the elevator sat a foot higher than the floor. It bounced  
upward a couple times with a low electrical hum, proof that someone upstairs was futzing with it.

 

“You stop right there!”

 

Brian turned. Behind him stood a dark brown, pregnant woman with braids down her back, a twenty-dollar bill  
in her left hand and a baseball bat raised in her right.

 

“Who the hell are you? And what do you think you’re doing giving my child money?”

 

Brian saw Mr. President peek at him from behind the woman’s hip.

 

Brian instinctively raised his empty hands in surrender. “I’m just someone who’s interested in the building.”

 

“Donovan, go back in the house baby.” The woman lowered the bat and pocketed the money. “What for?  
Are you a cop? Because you’re a week late. I called and had those crackheads cleared out last week.”

 

Brian gave a small laugh. “I’m not a cop.”

 

The woman took a step closer. “You that building inspector? Cause I’ve got a few things I wanna talk to you about  
before you start tearin’ things up. This is building is-”

 

“I’m not the building inspector.” Brian added.

 

“You’re not?”

 

“No.”

 

“Well, mister, you’re gonna have to come up with something quick or I’m gonna have to swing on you,” the  
woman said firmly, then she seemed to feel Mr. President’s small hand on her hip again. “Didn’t I say get back  
in the house? Boy, don’t make me hurt you.”

 

Brian watched the boy scramble back into the first apartment and watch from the door. “I’m just here to look around.”

 

“The Museum of Modern Art is downtown.”

 

“I have a friend who lives here and…”

 

“Who? Princess?”

 

Brian chuckled again. “You call him that too?”

 

“Him?” The woman looked Brian up and down, took a step closer, studied his face. Finally, she let out a little sigh,  
visibly letting her guard down. The woman smiled sadly. “You’re Brian.”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Lydia’s home was warm, comfy. The dark blue living room set brought out the blue trim along the walls and  
doorways. The coffee table was covered with framed family pictures. A huge aquarium sat beside the window  
facing the street, its colorful fish a moving mosaic. Plants and African trickets were place tastefully on shelves.  
Sitting at the kitchen table, Brian recognized lots of the appliances along the wall and noticed the aquatic theme  
was carried over from the living room with fishy blue wallpaper.

 

“Our building has two zip codes,” Lydia said, placing a glass of water before Brian. Carefully, she set herself down  
in a chair as well, slightly winded. “As a result, we have a hard time getting any kind of city aid, because neither  
district wants to claim us. I’ve been trying to have this building declared a historical landmark. It qualifies on several  
points for its architecture.”

 

Brian sipped his water, glancing at Mr. President, who sat on the opposite side of the table with a thesaurus in  
front of him. “And having the building declared a landmark would-”

 

“Would guarantee that the city earmarks this building for upkeep funding. It could mean a blurb in the Fodor’s guides,  
something that would make us more valuable to the district. But until I get the zoning committee to make a decision,  
no one wants us. We’re still a charming little community that’s slowly turning into a slums.”

 

Brian looked around the apartment. “I’d hardly call this a slums.”

 

“Did you think that from the outside?” Brian didn’t have a response. Lydia continued, rubbing her round belly.  
“My husband is in construction and home improvement. You can bet none of the other units are as nice as  
this one. He just landed a contract to fix the elevator down the hall. I think my threatening letters to the Fair  
Housing Authority finally reached the right desk.”

 

“I saw the truck outside.”

 

Lydia glanced at her front door skeptically. “There’ve been an awful lot of people looking around these days but…”

 

“Clearly there’s work being done. Maybe you won’t need city money.”

 

“So far, it’s just the elevator. There’s a big difference between restoring this building and remodeling it. Restoring  
takes time and experts to insure the artistic and architectural integrity of the building. Remodeling means gutting it.  
Rip out the old, stuff in the new and everyone here losing their rent control.”

 

Brian watched Lydia speak with such passion. He found himself pulled in by her. And then Brian realized how much  
sense it made that she and Justin had found each other. She cared so much.

 

Brian and Lydia listened as someone in heels ran up the hall. The footsteps faded with the closing of the stairwell door.

 

“How many people live here?” Brian asked, getting back on track.

 

“The ones that pay rent? Maybe eleven. Justin’s probably the oldest tenant in the building, besides us. Mr. President  
here decided to be hardheaded and started playing around that elevator, and got his foot caught. Justin got there  
right before that damn elevator took his leg off. He really saved the day.”

 

“So Justin’s a hero,” Brian smiled.

 

Lydia nodded eagerly. “Yes. He’s come to the rescue more than once. A few people in this building own him a thanks  
or two. A few extra dollars, babysitting. He’s way more together than most of the folks I’ve seen come through here.  
As cliché as it may sound, he doesn’t seem to belong here.”

 

“Neither do you.”

 

“It’s temporary,” Lydia said quietly, sounding to Brian as if it were less temporary than she had hoped.

 

“I like Justin mom. He’s a vital person,” Mr. President announced.

 

“Try another word baby,” Lydia said, pointing to the thick book before him. “Donovan here has decided to be  
president one day. We’ve already started working on it as a family.”

 

“Strong communication skills plus good ideas equals leadership.”

 

Brian grinned at the young lad, impressed. “Did your mom help you come up with that?”

 

“No he did.”

 

Brian looked from mother to son, then sat back in his chair. “You got my vote.”

 

Proud of himself, Mr. President tried not to smile as he buried his head back into his thesaurus.

 

“Justin invited me over for dinner. I thought I would check it out. You know… make sure I knew where I was  
going tonight.”

 

“Right,” Lydia said doubtfully.

 

“So, he’s told you about me?”

 

“He has.”

 

Brian tried to read something from her brown eyes. They only suggested that Lydia was probably a poker player.  
“Well, it couldn’t have been all that bad. Otherwise you would have used that baseball bat.”

 

Lydia began rubbing her stomach again. “Justin’s a sweet guy. I haven’t seen a smile light up a room like that in  
a long time. We used to have margaritas on the roof and gab. Until my husband found out.”

 

“Found out…?”

 

Lydia shot a glance towards Mr. President and took a moment to choose her words. “That he’s not in our church.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Craig is Mississippi Baptist. He has very limited ideas of who is blessed with the grace of God and who won’t  
make it passed the pearly gates.”

 

“So what’s an obviously intelligent, free thinking woman like yourself doing married to a…” Brian also remembered  
Mr. President sitting there, acting as if he weren’t listening. “…to someone like Craig?”

 

Lydia brushed at Mr. President’s hair, suddenly thoughtful. “Love’s a funny thing. Like a democrat marrying  
a republican. There will be things that are just an impasse. So they’re off limits.”

 

“Intelligent and a diplomat,” Brian murmured.

 

“Now see me, I’m with Chris Rock,” Lydia said lightly. “He said there’s no use hating anyone, because as soon as  
you do, one will end up in your family. You hate gays, your son’s gonna be gay. You hate Latinos, your daughter  
will start dating _La Vida Loca_.”

 

Mr. President laughed out loud at the way his mother stuck her chest out and wiggled.

 

Brian laughed too. He was relieved that our future president had a mom like Lydia to counteract the influence  
of a dad like Craig.

 

Brian stood. “I’d better be going. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Justin I was here.”

 

Lydia reached back and pushed herself out of her chair. Waving Brian’s helping hand away, she said,  
“Don’t worry. I don’t tell his business, I won’t tell yours. But y’all sure do got a lot to talk about.”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

The door to 8A was ajar. Brian had seen this moment in movies before. There would be a dead body lying  
on the other side. A guy with a knife waiting to pounce. A couple fucking with restless abandon in the kitchen.

 

“Oh hi! Come in. Come in.”

 

Or just a cute girl in a Starbuck’s uniform rubbing at a stain on her shirt.

 

“You’re lucky to catch me. Had a little accident at work, otherwise I wouldn’t even be here.”

 

Brian stopped wondering why she was so eager to usher a stranger into her house and focused on what was familiar  
about her. He had seen her before… recently… Starbuck’s!

 

“Here it is, home sweet home.” The bad latte maker had her hair in a short ponytail. She wore a maroon Starbuck’s  
skirt set with knee high boots, thus most likely making her the one who had run up the hall earlier.

 

Miss Latte took a few steps backwards into the cold apartment. “My boyfriend said he was gonna call you about  
the notice you people sent. The lease is in his name but I guess I can try to answer any questions you might have.”

 

Brian didn’t bother correcting the young woman. Being a tall white guy in a suit was granting him way too much  
access. He decided to take full advantage. He looked at his business card. If she had a boyfriend, he must have  
the wrong apartment.

 

“The lease is in your boyfriend’s name, but you live here too?”

 

Miss Latte got quiet, as if she realized she had said something wrong. “Yes, well mostly. He said he was gonna  
put my name on the lease too. I know he meant to. He probably just hasn’t had time. He works two jobs so he’s  
really busy. But I’m sure he meant to do it. Actually, I don’t know that he hasn’t. He probably already has.”

 

Brian tried to ease her cornered expression with a smile.

 

“I bet you want our list, right? I’ll go get it for you.”

 

“List?”

 

Miss Latte disappeared into the bedroom, perhaps without hearing Brian.

 

Brian looked at the card again, double checked the number on the door.

 

He took in the shabby home. Spacious, yes, as Justin had said. And a dump in every other way. The floor creaked.  
The living room carpet was knotted and matted into little more than a rug. An old television sat nestled in a hole  
in the wall that was once a fireplace. The windows were tapes up, a fact hidden poorly by the paper-thin,  
red-flowered curtains. A tired sofa sat tattered and pathetic at the edge of the living room carpet. Rashes of  
black mold grew along the floorboards. There was a smell coming from the kitchen, whose origin Brian didn’t  
even try to identify.

 

Miss Latte returned with two pages, handing them to Brian. “You asked for a list of repairs, right? It’s not finished  
though. And I think my boyfriend will want to add to it. So can we give you another one after the weekend?”

 

Brian realized he must have the wrong apartment. There was no computer, no art.

 

“Actually…” Brian began to confess when Miss Latte pulled at the scarf at her neck.

 

“There certainly are a lot of you guys here. It’s like for months nothing. And then…”

 

She had the most beautiful green eyes and fake diamond studs in each ear.

 

“Then all of a sudden, boom, people are fixing and working. When do you think you will get to our apartment?”

 

Her face was framed with fine wavy wisps of baby hairs, softening her hairline and dancing down the back  
of her neck. Her lips and eyes lined perfectly.

 

“My boyfriend Justin said it might be a while because we are on the eighth floor and closer to the top.”

 

And an Adam’s apple.

 

Brian realized she-he was looking up at him. She-he had finally stopped talking. Grinning uncontrollably, Brian  
calmly handed the sheets of paper back to her…him.

 

“Miss-” Brian broke into a laugh, swallowed it, and began again. “Miss, I’m not the person you want to give  
this to. I just wanted to take a look at the unit so… You should have your boyfriend call if no one else comes by.  
Please, don’t let me make you late.”

 

“Oh goodness, you’re right.” Miss Latte grabbed for her open blouse as if she suddenly realized she was revealing  
something. “I’d better change before it stains.”

 

“It was nice meeting you,” Brian said professionally.

 

“You too,” Miss Latte smiled sweetly. “Bye-bye.”

 

It took Brian three tries to close the door properly behind him.

 

“Un-fucking-believable.”

____________________________________________________________________________________  
 **Author’s Note** : _Please don’t mention this tiny twist in your reviews. Let’s keep it our little secret!_  



	7. Wanting Time

  
Author's notes:

The  _Last & Biggest CowLip mistake: Justin was not in the final moments of the series. Not even in spirit. That pissed me off. _

_So, I put him back in. Please visit QAF Corner @<http://www.angelfire.com/indie/justabrowngirl7/qafcorner.html> & watch the video companion to this chapter “Finale Revisited". It’s how I would have ended the series._

****________________________________________________****

**Summary:** Justin  & Brian have the talk. **Contains spoilers for QAF Eps.# 513**

* * *

Justin hit the wood chisel with his palm a third time. Prying slowly, hoping to make as little noise as possible, the window gave, lifting on the left side. Justin stole a glance down as he stuffed the chisel in his pocket. Below him ten players remained completely engaged in their basketball game, oblivious to his presence on the fire escape. Like many times before, Justin lifted the window to the ninth floor apartment and carefully slipped inside.

 

He pushed the window shut with the same stealth and was careful that the two blankets hanging at the window were once again arranged, so no light would come in or out.

 

He knew the apartment well and walked through the darkness with confidence. Once he checked the front door to make sure it was still locked, he reached into another pocket, pulled out his torch and went to the task of lighting the many candles throughout the apartment.

 

He had built shelves along the walls, lining them with tea lights and tapers. Pillars and columns in glass vases burned silently around the room and on the floor, illuminating the six paintings.

 

He ran his hands along the canvas, felt the grooves made by thick layers of paint. Followed the grooves until the canvas ended. Justin moved to the next one. He studied the color in the candlelight. His eyes followed the pattern, testing to see if he captured that movement, the feeling he meant to. Then he moved to the next.

 

Justin placed both hands flat on the last painting. Felt for the lines and contours of the paint strokes under his palms and fingertips. Waited to feel what he felt when he painted it, trying to remember what he felt when he painted it. Knowing that he had intentionally buried it away, he continued to touch the painting, hoping to call it up again. Hoping he was ready to feel that feeling again.

 

A thud overhead interrupted his communion.

 

Justin listened to the feet moving around. Footfalls and movement suddenly in full volume. Rene was right. They were starting from the top. Justin realized he was out of time. He sat on the drop cloth in the middle of the apartment, his eyes falling on the two blank canvases leaning against the kitchen counter. “Fuck.”

 

It was the siren that awakened Justin from his trance. He had been staring at the blank canvases. The room had gotten darker. Some candles must have gone out. A siren had passed, but how much time?

 

Justin scrubbed his face with his hands. Suddenly worried by the time, he hastily covered his paintings and blew out the candles around the room.

 

Breaking in and entering through the window was one thing, but Justin never felt any hesitation at leaving from the front door, so long as he locked it behind himself.

 

Once back downstairs in his own apartment, Justin went straight to the task of resealing the window up with more tape he had “borrowed” from work.

 

“Don’t clean up on my account.”

 

Justin smiled at the sound of Brian’s voice. He didn’t realize he had left the door open. “Don’t worry, I’m not.”

 

Justin finish applying the last strip of tape in the window crevice and turned to see Brian holding up a box of saltines.

 

“I brought something that goes with tuna.”

 

“Great.” Justin walk to the front door when he saw Brian struggling to close it. He gave it a good shove with his hip and secured it shut. At seeing Brian unbutton his coat, “You might wanna keep that on.”

 

“Are we having tuna to go?”

 

“There’s no heat.”

 

“Charming.”

 

“I haven’t really had a chance to do anything yet. I just got home.” Justin began to reach for the saltines when Brian pulled the box out of reach and wrapped an arm around him.

 

Unlike the day before, Justin kept is arms raised in the air. Today, he seemed unsure if he should return the embrace.

 

“That’s OK.” Brian gave Justin a quick kiss on the lips, then smiled.

 

Justin smiled back, gauging Brian’s unexpected cheerfulness. “I was gonna come get you. How did you get in?”

 

Brian tossed the saltines onto the wooden coffee table, took Justin by the wrists and sat them down on the tattered couch. “Lydia.”

 

Justin relaxed a little. “Isn’t she great? So cool. She’s the one that’s all about community and knowing your neighbors. She organized this Friday Night Movie club. Which is great because it keeps everyone on the block on a face-to-face, first name basis. She was around for the Crown Heights Riots and saw some pretty bad stuff. She said she never  
wants that to happen again. Not in this neighborhood, not around her kids.

 

“And the movie club helps throw Mr. Sarkassian some business for the movie theater. That’s my second job. The theater’s a few blocks from here. He gets the worse copies of these awful, old films. Well, they’re not all awful. Most of the stuff he plays there you can get on video. But for the purists out there who wanna see it in the movies. He has themes all the time, retrospectives… Last week it was Matthew Broderick. _Ferris Bueller’s Day Off_ and _Godzilla_. This week it’s Bruce Willis. But the prints he gets are so crappy, I spend most of my time  
cleaning film so it won’t destroy his projector to run it through. But he’s great too. Mr. Sarkassian is one of those guys that just loves movies. They remind him of his childhood. Better days, he says.”

 

“Better days, huh? I could say the same for the mother hens of Pittsburgh. Once upon a time, you would pick up a phone and call. If you did, I wouldn’t have Deb and Jennifer on my ass, sending me up here to interrogate you.”

 

“I don’t have a phone. Well, I don’t have money to buy minutes for the phone.”

 

“I’ll take care of that.”

 

“Did you really come all the way here because my mother sent you?”

 

“She said your e-mails stopped coming.”

 

Justin looked away from Brian’s face. “Well, I kinda had to sell my computer.” He walked to the window and began running his hand against the newly applied tape, pushing at the bubbles to seal it. “I needed the money. For months, I couldn’t find anything. Nothing. It’s in the pawnshop down the street. I’m hoping to buy it back by Christmas.”

 

Brian stood as well. “Not the best excuse, but I’ll try to sell it for you.”

 

“Good thing it’s you. You can sell anything.”

 

“And that is why Kinnetic Worldwide is up for half a dozen CLIO awards. The ceremony is next week at the Waldorf. I figured I shouldn’t blow it off this year.”

 

“You? Miss a chance to be wined and dined?”

 

“It’s business.” Brian didn’t waste much time watching Justin busy himself with window taping. “Why haven’t you kept in touch? What’s going on with you?”

 

Justin looked up from the secured window. “Speaking of dining.”

 

He quickly grabbed the saltines from the coffee table and made a beeline for the kitchen.

 

Brian followed him. “You didn’t really think I would try to have this conversation with you on your twelve minute lunch hour, did you?”

 

Justin scanned the near bare cupboard way too long. He grabbed three cans of tuna. “There’s not that much to tell.”

 

“I’m sure that’s an understatement.”

 

“Not really.” Justin turned on the oven and pulled the door open half way.

 

Brian watch Justin fish below the sink for a bowl and beside it for the can opener. “What are you so nervous about?”

 

“I’m not nervous,” Justin laughed nervously, not looking at him. He turned with a forced smile, and insisted again, “I’m not nervous.”

 

“Christ.” Annoyed, Brian took the can opener from Justin’s hand, grabbed his collar and pulled him into a kiss. He felt Justin resist a little before allowing his tongue to enter, before slowing sucking back on his lips. He could feel Justin’s body tensing then give, with hesitance then familiarity. He felt the conflict as Justin leaned into him and ease a hand between them at the same time.

 

Satisfied with his taste, Brian pulled away. He saw the confusion and guilt on Justin’s face. He tried to smooth it away with a hand on his face. “See? Nothing’s changed. It’s only time, ‘member?”

 

Brian smiled suddenly, and Justin smiled too. Tense moments subsiding.

 

“Fuck the tuna. Spill it.” Brian took a seat at the kitchen table. Adjusting himself in his coat, he peeled off his gloves and settled into the uncomfortable chair. “You hocked your computer. Is that why you’re not painting?”

 

“I was… I am.” Justin answered, easing into a chair himself.

 

“Then where are they? Show me.”

 

“They’re upstairs. The apartment above this one is empty. Well, for the moment anyway. I’ve been using it as a studio space. And I have some at the movies theater. Mr. Sarkassian lets me store some of my paintings behind the scrim.”

 

Justin watched Brian listen. When Brian didn’t offer any comment, he continued.

 

“Supplies are really expensive and I feel like I wore out my welcome with Sean. That’s Daphne’s friend. So I needed to work to pay rent. I just landed this job with Kennedy & Collins. I guess they saw Vanguard on my resume and decided to hire me. They must not’ve check the reference or they would have found out what happened there.”

 

“I would have given you a glowing recommendation.”

 

“I’m sure. Mostly I think they hired me to piss off Dick Campbell. They hired me for him while he was on vacation. He hates my guts, but I’m pretty sure they won’t let him fire me without a good reason. I think hiring me was just another part of trying to force him out.”

 

“Dick was good once,” Brian nodded. “But he’s way past his prime. Some guys just don’t know when to let go. And your art?”

 

“Lindsay hooked me up with a friend of hers who opened her own gallery in SoHo. I don’t know how it happened, it happened so fast but…” Justin fidgeted in his chair, remembering. “Liz lost the gallery and had to sell her share to her partner who didn’t know shit about art. They went on with my show anyway, but… They ripped one of my  
paintings, they didn’t know how to light the pieces much less hang them… There was no advertising so no one came except the local papers. And none of them even wrote a review. It was like they just showed up for the food, which was awful.”

 

“You didn’t let anyone know.”

 

“I was going to. But once the gallery changed hands, I wasn’t even sure it would happen.”

 

“Oh it’s gonna happen alright.”

 

Brian dug into his pocket and produced a postcard. In the front was a picture of his painting from the Sydney Bloom gallery and a quote from the _Art Forum_ review. The reverse read:

 

**_Emerging: The works of Justin Taylor._ Coming soon to the New York Metro area. **

 

“Shit.”

 

“You didn’t know about this?”

 

“No. I asked her for help but… I haven’t talk to Lindsay since…”

 

“Since…?”

 

“Since the last time I emailed her. Where did this come from?”

 

“We all got them, about a month ago. She’s how I found you. She’ll be here this week.”

 

“Lindsay is coming here?”

 

“Now why on earth would Lindsay have to be here for an opening she’s organizing?” Brian asked sarcastically. He was enjoying breaking the news to Justin. There was so much genuine disbelief in Justin’s face. Like he was that kid under the lamppost again. The innocence, the awe.

 

Justin shook his head, unnerved. “There’s no way I can be ready in time. I don’t have anything new.”

 

“You’ll show your old stuff.”

 

“I can’t have a show without new pieces,” Justin argued.

 

“It’ll be new to anyone who hasn’t seen it yet. You said yourself no one reviewed you.”

 

“There were a few. Lukewarm.”

 

Brian sighed dramatically. “Whoever Lindsay invites, you can be sure they’ll be interested in more than the food.”

 

Justin stood and scanned the fridge. “God, I need a drink.”

 

“Brandy does best to keep you warm.”

 

“I don’t suppose you brought some. ‘Cause we sure don’t have any here.”

 

“I’ll take some water.”

 

“Water I got.” Justin handed Brian a small bottled water and sat down again.

 

“You said we. Or have you acquired a sudden interest in show tunes?” Brian nodded towards the stack of CD on the counter next to the boom box.

 

They sat in silence. Brian watched Justin gather his thoughts. “His name’s Rene. He’s just a kid, really sweet.”

 

“Like you were?” Brian watched Justin smiled slightly. _Good. It was meant as a compliment_.

 

“I actually met him the night of the opening, if you can even call it an opening.”

 

“An art student who wondered in off the street?” Brian asked, his eyes never leaving Justin’s face.

 

“No, the subway. After the show, I got so depressed, I just jumped on a train.”

 

“Well at least you didn’t jump in front of one.”

 

Brian and Justin shared another sober smirk. “I wasn’t paying attention to which one I was getting on and I got lost. After a while, I saw him in the car next to mine. There were these guys, looked like they were gonna hurt him. So at the next stop, I walked over, took him by the hand and brought him back to my car. The cholos that were bothering him-”

 

“Cholos?”

 

“Creeps.”

 

“Right.”

 

“They didn’t look real happy, but they didn’t do anything either. I think they were satisfied that Rene was scared shitless. Turns out he was lost too. New in New York. Chasing his dream of becoming an actor. I let him crash with me when we finally made it home. He’s been with me ever since.”

 

“Give us your poor, your tired, your witless artist. Sorry.”

 

“Like most of us witless artists, he’s working at Starbucks until he can make something happen for himself.”

 

“Is he the next DeNiro waiting to be discovered?” Brian asked with faux enthusiasm.

 

“More like the next Andrew Lloyd Weber. He has a beautiful voice.” Justin paused a moment, then laughed. “It’s the craziest thing. When I read lines with him and he’s working on a character, he has no accent. He speaks perfect English. It’s weird.”

 

“I didn’t notice.”

 

“What?”

 

“I take it then that English isn’t his native tongue,” Brian asked quickly.

 

“He’s Puerto Rican.”

 

“What else?” Brian asked after a moment of silence.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“How about his last name? How about how old is he? Is he a top or a bottom?”

 

“Brian…”

 

“Well it sounds like you don’t know that much about him yourself.”

 

“His last name is Ramos, he’ll be twenty New Year’s Eve. At first, I wasn’t even sure he was gay, or if he knew he was gay.”

 

“Maybe he’s not.”

 

Justin stood again, uncomfortable with where the conversation was leading. “We didn’t start off as a couple. I think he was running away from something, someone… He won’t talk about it, but I can imagine… So I just let him stay. Then, on his birthday, New Year’s Eve, he asked me if he could give me a present. I said sure and he went down on me.”

 

“Thus the happy couple was born?”

 

Justin didn’t answer. He fixed his eyes on the cans of tuna.

 

“What happens when whatever he’s running from catches up with him?”

 

Justin remained silence. He reached for the opener and a can of tuna.

 

“Babylon is once again the home of the fucking and the fabulous,” Brian tried.

 

Justin smiled, not looking at him. “You make it sound like a soap opera.”

 

“Why didn’t you come see me?”

 

“What for?” Justin challenged.

 

“Because I wanted to see you. Because I missed you. Because it’s your home.”

 

Justin began to chew at his lower lip. “Not anymore. You didn’t really want me there any way.”

 

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

 

“It’s not bullshit. I was there.”

 

“What?” Brian didn’t bother with a suitable nonchalant expression on his face. He wanted answers.

“I was there. The night Babylon re-opened.” Justin began quietly. He took a moment to find his voice and continued, looking Brian right in the eye. “I wanted to surprise you. So I paid for my own train ticket. Walter let me in. I asked him not to tell you I was there.”

 

“Why did you leave without-”

 

“It just looked like-”

 

“What did you think you saw?”

 

“You. Dancing on a fucking altar in the middle of Babylon. Showered with lights. Sparkling with confetti. Hot, half naked guys everywhere. Watching you, worshipping you. You looked like you had died and gone to heaven. I didn’t wanna ruin it.”

 

“You wouldn’t have ruined anything.”

 

“Yeah right,” Justin sighed doubtfully. “That was exactly the moment for the old ball & chain to show up.”

 

“I wanted to see you.”

 

“The look on your face said differently.”

 

“And what look was that?”

 

“Oh I don’t know. Bliss? You have that same look in your face whenever I finished blowing you.”

 

“That would be appropriate. Since all I could fucking think about that night was you.”

 

Brian was happy and annoyed with the surprise on Justin’s face. _He should know better_.

 

“I knew I saw you. But when I saw you didn’t use the plane ticket… I thought I must have imagined it. Chalked it all up to wishful thinking.”

 

“Since when do you wish for anything you can’t just buy?”

 

“I didn’t know you were for sale.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

Brian and Justin both heard it at the same time. Their voices were rising, getting defensive.

 

Justin took a deep breath and began again. “It just didn’t seem right, like it wasn’t the right time, the right place.”

 

Brian heard keys at the front door. “Well, timing is everything.”

 

“Hey Daddy!” Rene called into the apartment.

 

Brian looked at Justin. Grinning, he mouthed, Daddy?

 

“Look what I stole from work for you,” Rene sang.

 

“Hey Ney, I brought something home too,” Justin called evenly.

 

Rene stepped into the kitchen doorway. He saw Brian and froze. “What are you doing here?”

 

Brian stood, noting the absence of skirt and boots, earrings and makeup. Before him stood a normal, sweet-face boy, bundled up in a puffy, navy blue coat and mittens.

 

“Rene, this is Brian,” Justin said carefully.

 

Rene looked from Brian to Justin horrified. “No.”

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“No, no!” Rene dropped the canister of cocoa on the floor. He pointed angrily at Brian. “You said you were with the fixing people.”

 

“No, _you_ said I was with the fixing people,” Brian corrected him innocently.

 

“No. Make him leave.”

 

“Rene, what’s wrong?”

 

“He’s not Brian, make him leave!” Rene demanded.

 

Justin went to his boyfriend, rubbed at his puffy sleeves. “Rene, I’m sorry to surprise you but I didn’t know how else to tell you.”

 

“Tell me what?” Rene said in a rising panic.

 

“That Brian was in town. That he came to visit me.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me Justin?” Rene suddenly pushed passed Justin, stood up to the man that was more than a head taller than him. “Get out!”

 

“Rene!”

 

“It’s our place Justin, no matter what he says. And I want him to leave.”

 

“Rene just calm down a second.”

 

“Evil puta.”

 

The two men looked at Rene shocked. A stifled laugh broke through Brian’s composure.

 

“Alright. What the fuck is going on?” Justin asked, trying to slow things down. “Did something happen?”

 

Rene spun around, a wounded look in his eyes. “Why are you swearing at me? You never swear at me!”

 

“I’m not swearing _at_ you.”

 

Brian reached for his gloves on the table. “I’m gonna go. I’ll talk to you later.”

 

Rene spun around again, furious. “No you won’t! You stay away from him. You hear me? Don’t you say anything to him!”

 

Brian stared down at the boy yelling into his face and rethought the impulse to laugh again. Instead he looked to Justin, who immediately got between them.

 

“What are you so upset about?” Justin asked desperately. “Rene…?”

 

Rene’s eyes shifted from a dead stare at Brian to a guilt-ridden gaze at Justin. Without another word, Rene ran to the bedroom. He slammed the door, but the latch didn’t catch and it swung halfway open again.

 

Justin turned to Brian, momentarily speechless. “Please tell me you know what that was about.”

 

Brian could hear the sobbing in the bedroom. He put his gloves on, deciding exactly what he would say. “I was here this afternoon. I wanted to check the address and see for myself how much of a shithole you were living in. Rene was here.”

 

“So you knew about him?” Justin concluded.

 

“Oh yeah, I know about him. I think he’s embarrassed because I caught him playing housewife.”

 

Brian could see Justin waiting for more. He cleared his throat. “He mistook me for one of the repairmen and tried to show me around the apartment.”

 

“Well thanks a lot for the warning.”

 

“I didn’t know you required one.”

 

Brian watched Justin listening to the sobs.

 

“I shouldn’t have sprung this on him,” Justin lamented.

 

The sound of sobbing was instantly drowned out by:

 

_No one knows what it's like_  
To be the bad man  
To be the sad man  
Behind blue eyes 

 

Justin sighed frustrated. “Perfect.”

 

“What the fuck is that?”

 

“My goddamn neighbor. He’s gonna play that fucking song until the middle of the night.”

 

“So much for avoiding a riot.”

 

“Look, Brian I need to talk to Rene, alone. So…”

 

“No tuna fish? Darn!” Brian walked to the front door. “Good luck getting her claws retracted.”

 

“Can I still keep the saltines?”

 

“You have to, it’s food.” Before Justin could move away, Brian kissed his forehead. “Later.”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

_Knock-knock-knock._

The door to apartment 7A swung open.

On the other side, Brian smiled broadly. “Hey brother. Mind if I ask you a favor?”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

“What is he doing here?” Rene asked, sitting in the dark.

 

“He’s here on business,” Justin answered from the doorway.

 

“Why did you bring him here?”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“You told him where we live!” Rene said desperately.

 

“Rene, it was just supposed to be dinner.”

 

Rene sprung up from the bed. “He can’t come back here again. He can’t. He’s not allowed. I don’t allow it!”

 

“ _You_ won’t allow it?” Justin repeated, a slight warning in his voice.

 

Rene’s tears began to fall. He ran to Justin and held him tight. “He’s coming to take you away from me. He’s coming to take you and I can’t allow it. I can’t. I can’t be alone again.”

 

“Rene…”

 

“Who’s gonna want me when he takes you away?”

 

Justin hugged Rene as closely as he could through the thickly insulated coat. “Rene? Is this about your family?”

 

“No.” Rene pushed away from Justin, retreating to the window across the room.

 

“Did they do something to you?”

 

“Stop.”

 

“Rene you can tell me.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

Justin went to Rene, took his mittened hands and squeezed them encouragingly. “You can. Just talk to me.”

 

“Promise me you won’t listen to anything he says.”

 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Justin asked calmly.

 

“He’ll tell you lies.”

 

“Brian doesn’t lie.”

 

“He lied when he said he would change for you.”

 

Justin hesitated. He couldn’t shake off the reminder quickly enough. Knowing Rene was watching him,  
he whispered, “That wasn’t a lie. It was a mistake.”

 

“I can’t lose you Justin.”

 

Justin unsnapped the buttons of Rene’s coat. Reaching beneath, he pulled Rene’s warm body close to his. “I’m not going anywhere."


	8. Changing

  
Author's notes: **Summary:** Another Glimpse into Brian's Head. **Adults Only Chapter! Contains Spoiler / Gapfiller for Eps.# 512.**  


* * *

_You might have laughed if I told you_  
You might have hidden the frown  
You might have succeeded in changing me  
I might have been turned around  
It's easier to leave than to be left behind  
Leaving was never my proud  
Leaving New York never easy  
I saw the life fading out 

_**~Leaving New York – R.E.M.** _

__

 

__

 

__

 

_Brian saw him immediately. The guy that was standing across the street from the comic book shop when he and  
Mikey finally left._

__

 

_Ben had dropped by to accompany Mikey home. And by the disapproving look on the professor’s face, the smell  
of marijuana must have followed them out of the store._

__

 

_Brian offered them a ride home before he thought about the fact that his car was a two-seater. Luckily, the happily_  
married husbands opting to catch the bus together rather than take the ride he offered them. So Brian found  
himself, standing alone on the street corner this early evening, eying the red-head that stood beside his Corvette.  
Brian assumed he was licking his lips for a reason. It was awfully cold for someone to just be standing outside in  
only an open leather jacket. 

__

 

_They made eye contact. Red placed his hand on the Corvette. Brian pulled out his keys and crossed the street._

__

 

_“Beautiful.”_

__

 

_“I know,” Brian answered._

__

 

_“I heard about this ride.”_

__

 

_“Really?”_

__

 

_“It’s a classic. A ride like this doesn’t come around every day.”_

__

 

_“Bet your ass it doesn’t.”_

__

 

_“Mind if I see how it handles?”_

__

 

_** ** ** **_

__

 

_He parked in his favorite spot, the small street across from Woody’s. The posted parking restrictions were ambiguous,  
so he never got a ticket._

__

 

_Red unbuttoned Brian’s jeans slowly. He had stroked Brian hard and was taking his time unwrapping his present._

__

 

_Brian sat back in the driver’s seat, content to feel Red’s progress rather than watch him. With a last glance down,_  
he saw someone approaching the car. The guy walked normally, then broke his stride as he came closer to  
the ‘Vette. Coming closer, Brian noticed the blonde hair, the black coat, the white and blue striped scarf. 

__

 

_The guy was looking at him, his slowing advance came to a stop. In the evening shadows it almost looked like…  
It couldn’t be._

__

 

_Brian flicked on the car headlights. The guy threw his hand up to shield his face._

__

 

_“Jimmy!”_

__

 

_The guy on the street turned. Two more guys appeared on the corner. “Where’re you goin’? We’re parked over here.”_

__

 

_Jimmy gave Brian a second glance before turning around. “Asshole!”_

__

 

_Brian turned the headlights off. It was just Jimmy. Brian knew it couldn’t have been Justin._

__

 

_Red slipped Brian’s dick in his mouth with a moan._

__

 

_And then it hit him. It very easily could have been Justin._

__

 

_“Stop.”_

__

 

__

 

_** ** ** **_

__

 

__

 

_Brian pulled the loft door open to see Justin putting on his coat in the living room. He smiled at Brian sweetly and  
wound his white and blue scarf around his neck. “Hey.”_

__

 

_“Where are you going?” Brian asked, shutting the door and stripping off his coat._

__

 

_“The studio. I have work to do.”_

__

 

_Justin wrapped his bag over his head and Brian took it right back off his shoulder. “Kinda late, isn’t it?”_

__

 

_“Not really,” Justin laughed, letting Brian unwind his scarf and pull his coat off. “Lindsay said she wanted to talk to me.”_

__

 

_Brian shook his head as he stripped off his own shirt. “Lindsay has spread enough life altering news for one day.”_

__

 

_“Like what?”_

__

 

_Brian yanked Justin’s sweater off. “She’s gonna meet you there?”_

__

 

_“Yeah, I’m already late.”_

__

 

_“Why don’t you call her?”_

__

 

_“Brian-”_

__

 

_“Call her.”_

__

 

_Brian handed Justin the cordless, then went to work unfastening Justin’s pants “What are you doing?”_

__

 

_“You’re not dialing.”_

__

 

_Justin hit the speed dial as he watched Brian kick off his shoes and socks, sending them flying across the room.  
A tiny voice came on the line. “Hey Lindsay, I-”_

__

 

_Brian grabbed the phone. “Lindz, Justin can’t make it tonight.”_

__

 

_Brian hung up the phone, threw it on the couch and grabbed Justin by the wrist, heading up to the bedroom._

__

 

_“That was rude.”_

__

 

_“My reputation remains intact. Come’ere.”_

__

 

_Brian held naked Justin against him by a firm hand on his back._

__

 

_“Are you gonna say please?” Justin whispered._

__

 

_Brian bit down lightly on Justin’s neck. Knowing it was a major erogenous zone, Brian anticipated the way Justin_  
laughed and crumpled beneath his lips. He sucked hard against Justin neck, rendering him instantly powerless and  
laid him on the bed in the same motion. His busy lips worked their way to Justin’s lips and kissed him fiercely  
as he worked his own jeans off with haste. Kneeling on the bed, he stopped and stared down at Justin. 

__

 

_Justin’s eyes were surprised, unsure. His dick was waking._

__

 

_Brian stripped off Justin’s shoes and socks. “Roll over,” he commanded. His hands were on Justin’s hips,_  
flipping him even before Justin could even respond. He ran his hands down the length of Justin’s body, grabbed  
hold of his ass, dug his thumbs into Justin’s hole and immediately followed them with his tongue. 

__

 

_Justin gasped at the delving and licking inside him. He couldn’t help himself to bear down against the warm,_  
darting tongue. Brian breathed hotly between his legs, just how he liked it. The tongue was soon replaced by a wet  
finger, pushing, rubbing inside him. 

__

 

_Brian single-handedly put in the condom. “Come’ere,” he said again, speaking more to Justin’s ass rather than  
to Justin himself._

__

 

_He had Justin’s hips again, pulling him onto all fours. He replaced his finger with his dick expertly. The heat, the_  
all-consuming heat felt so good, Brian forced himself to count to three, fighting to give Justin a moment to adjust.  
At two and a half seconds, he pushes in again and again, needing to be inside all the way, needing that perfect fit. 

__

 

_Brian grabbed hold of Justin’s hips and started to lean in, rocking forward, pushing further. Justin rocked with him,_  
knowing their rhythm, giving that small resistance that he knew made it just right for both of them. And the rhythm  
went on, the perfect tension and give as Brian slid in and out of Justin. Brian took one hand and grabbed a hold of  
Justin’s shoulder. He reached down with the other and started to jerk Justin off. 

__

 

_“Yeah… yeah…” Justin moaned, rocking into Brian’s thrusts._

__

 

_Suddenly, Justin’s breath starting to catch in his throat. Brian tightened his grip beneath them and Justin shot onto_  
the bed. Brian rode the sensation of Justin’s hole tightening around his own cock, Justin’s ring squeezing  
on his head. 

__

 

_Justin’s back sagged into a smooth, white concave. Brian waited for his breathing to even out before he resumed_  
his even, steady thrusts. He could see Justin concentrating, trying to find their rhythm again. Once they found it,  
Brian leaned forward with his hands holding down Justin’s arms. It pinned Justin flush against the bed and  
tilted Justin’s ass even further into the air. 

__

 

_Brian listened to each gasp as he thrust it forth from Justin’s lips. The gasps became a low stream of moans as_  
Brian needed to fit more and more of himself inside Justin. It fed his need to go deeper, be deeper, find something  
inside him, find their oneness. Brian drove into Justin, harder and faster until Justin bucked backward, tensed  
harshly and shot another load onto the sheets. 

__

 

_Brian watched Justin’s head fall against the bed. A glistening layer of perspiration had magically appeared down_  
Justin’s back. The tension in Justin’s hole was constant, retaining its grip on Brian’s still rigid cock effortlessly,  
holding him firm, pulling him in. 

__

 

_Brian swayed into Justin, slowly, completely. He was still hard. He hadn’t come. He needed to come so badly._

__

 

_He looked at Justin before him, lying still on the bed, trying to catch his breath, making no effort to remove Brian’s  
cock from inside him._

__

 

_How long had they been going at it? Justin doesn’t tire easily. How long?_

__

 

_Brian’s dick was throbbing, pulsating. He needed to come._

__

 

_Brian slipped his knee between Justin’s knees, pushing them apart. The new position offered Justin no balance,_  
sending his pelvis slipped back, saddling onto Brian’s dick completely, encasing it to the tilt. Brian leaned the full  
length of his body on top of Justin, planting a gentle kiss on the back of his sweaty neck. He wrapped his arms  
around Justin’s shoulders, holding him against his chest. Again, he begins his upward strokes. 

__

 

_With Brian’s arms closed tightly around him, Justin couldn’t rock, couldn’t move. He was Brian’s rhythm, receiving_  
the powerful stabs, plunging up into him, finding new depths. Tried to remember how to breathe. His face fixed,  
jaw dropped in a silent outcry. 

__

 

_“Give it to me Justin. Give it. Give it…”_

__

 

_Brian began slamming himself into Justin. Tilting his hips up, pushing in. Brian pressed his head against Justin’s_  
and concentrated on the soft hair against his face. He thought about Justin’s face the moment he came. He breathed  
into the knowing that Justin let him inside. Would always let him inside. Only him. This is marriage. This is what  
he wanted. This. This. 

__

 

_Justin’s grunts got louder and Brian’s strokes got harder. His own grunting sounded loud to him, but he couldn’t_  
help it. Couldn’t stop. He finally found it. He pushed further and further, into that small place. Ramming, jamming,  
crashing into that world. Tight. Hot. Justin. His. All. His. 

__

 

_Justin body jerked. His hole contracted, clamping down on Brian’s dick, finally triggering Brian’s eruption.  
Brian jabbed into Justin, over and over, gratefully overflowing with him, into him._

__

 

_Euphoria fading._

__

 

_Brian noticed the body beneath him was trembling. He realized Justin’s muscles were ready to give out under  
his weight._

__

 

_Brian unwrapped his body from Justin’s, eased out of him and rolled onto his side against waiting pillows. Slowly,  
Justin rolled onto his back as well, still panting, still with a far away look on his face. “Better?”_

__

 

_“Yeah.” The filled condom knotted and tossed on the floor, Brian watched as Justin tried to catch his breath._

__

 

_“Good.”_

__

 

_Justin’s eyes drifted closed even though he was still panting. He was covered with cum and sweat. His face was  
flushed and his hair was damp with exertion._

__

 

_Brian looked at Justin’s lean body. The even, milky white skin. His perfect pink penis bouncing with aftershocks_  
on a nest of dark blonde pubes. The modest muscles of his arms and shoulders. His panting through slightly  
parted red lips. The long lashes. 

__

 

_Justin was right there for the taking. Just as hot and fuckable as the day they met. Why would he risk losing this?  
Losing him?_

__

 

_Brian had been the one to give voice to their unspoken commitment. This was his doing. Or was it his undoing?_

__

 

_“You’re all I need,” Brian declared finally._

__

 

_And with that, he decided to put the guy from the car out of his mind. To put all twinks and studs out of his mind,  
for good. He had to._

__

 

_“What?”_

__

 

_Brian blinked. Justin’s sleepy eyes were open, watching him._

__

 

_“Nothing.”_

__

 

_“You haven’t done that in a long time,” Justin commented, still panting slightly._

__

 

_Brian stretched out next to his partner. His hand landed on Justin’s dick, where he began rubbing again,  
slowly. “Tired?”_

__

 

_Justin grinned, at the question, at Brian’s touch. “I might have a third wind coming.”_

__

 

_Brian rolled on top of Justin, pressing his naked groin against Justin’s, feeling them both grow hard together.  
He nibbled at Justin’s neck again._

__

 

_“Brian, you can slow down ya know,” Justin chuckled._

__

 

_Brian lifted his head from kissing Justin’s face. “You want it slow?”_

__

 

_“What’s your hurry?” Justin smiled and gently placed a warm hand on Brian’s face. “I’m not going anywhere.”_  
Brian kissed him slowly, licking his lips, grinding cock against cock again, sending a gasp through Justin.  
“Especially if you keep doing that.” 

__

 

_**He’s all I need.  
He’s all I need.** _

__

 

_Brian pushed his knee under Justin’s, lifting his leg up slowly, easing their bodies into the next sexual position._

__

 

_“I wouldn’t want you to get bored with me before we’re even married.”_

__

 

_Brian stopped scanning the nightstand for a condom and looked down at Justin. The question in Justin’s voice was  
small and calm._

__

 

_“Not possible.”_

__

 

_That made Justin happy. The glow of his tired, beautiful smile almost drowned out the chorus in Brian’s head._

__

 

_**I don’t need more.  
I don’t need more.** _

_**He’s all I need.** _

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

“Hey Daddy!” Lindsay whispered as loudly as she could.

 

Brian opened the door to the hotel suite wider. He immediately reached for the sleeping child in her arms.  
“I’ll give you a thousand dollars to never call me that again.”

 

Both parents took great care in transferring Gus from Lindsay’s arms to Brian’s. “Hey Sonnyboy.” Brian kissed  
Gus’ hair and Lindsay kissed Brian’s bearded cheek.

 

“How about hot stuff? Lover man?”

 

“On second thought.” Brian walked slowly to the connecting bedroom and Lindsay suddenly remembered  
the bellhop behind her. He silently deposited three suitcases inside the hotel room.

 

When Lindsay began fumbling for her purse, the young man held up a modest hand. “It’s my pleasure Miss.”

 

"Miss? I think I'm gonna like it here," Lindsay said happily, as the bellhop bowed and closed the door behind himself.

 

“Isn’t he a little big for you to be carrying him around?” Brian’s voice called from the next room.

 

“You try telling him that, if you can wake him.”

 

Lindsay took off her coat and took in her lavish surrounding: the second connecting bedroom, the cart of snacks,  
the wet bar, the antique-fashioned furniture, the fireplace waiting to be lit.

 

Pinning her blonde tresses up in a bun, she walked to the bedroom door and watched Brian remove the shoes and  
coat off their sleeping son with the utmost care.

 

“Well anti-dad doesn’t fit anymore. You’re actually getting quite good at this.”

 

Brian laid Gus down in the middle of the bed and pulled the comforter over him. He gave the child another kiss  
and walked out the room, ignoring Lindsay comment. “Your flight was early.”

 

“But your car was right on time.” Lindsay followed Brian into the common area. She sank onto the couch and  
immediately began stripping off her boots. “Thanks for picking us up.”

 

“I can’t have my son and his mother waiting out in the blistering cold, now can I?” Brian answered, transferring the  
suitcases into the bedroom where Gus slept.

 

“Thanks for the hotel room, too.”

 

“They gave me a good rate on a suite. It’s no big deal.”

 

“Are you sure we won’t be cramping your style?” Lindsay asked, massaging her toes. “Fags really love Gus, but  
I’m sure that’s not why you’ll be bringing them back here.”

 

“Then I guess I won’t be bringing anyone back here.”

 

When Brian entered the room again, he saw Lindsay looking at him as if he had just started speaking Japanese.  
Realizing why she looked at him that way, he shook his head. “It’s no big deal. Buy you a drink?”

 

“Do you have diet Pepsi?”

 

Brian walked to the bar. “Lindz? You’re in the Big Apple. Live a little.”

 

Tempted, Lindsay answered, “Scotch.”

 

“That’s more like it,” Brian cheered.

 

“I remember the last time you talked about coming to New York.”

 

“When you accused me of abandoning my son?”

 

Lindsay flinched at the memory. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

 

Brian handed her the drink and sat with her on the couch. “And look who ended up leaving.”

 

“That was different.”

 

“Of course it was. Everyone knows munchers are saints and faggots are selfish.”

 

“And you’ve changed.” Lindsay waited for a reaction from Brian. He gave none. Instead, Brian swept her legs  
onto his lap and began to rub her stocking feet.

 

“You thought you had to leave to become something new. Something different,” Lindsay teased. “But what do  
you know, it’s how you arrived.”

 

“No thanks to you,” Brian muttered.

 

“No, no thanks to me at all. Thanks to Justin.”

 

Brian pushed her legs off his lap.

 

Lindsay studied Brian’s silence. She sipped on her drink, then moved closer to Brian on the couch. “Have you seen him?

 

“I just came from dinner with him. Almost dinner. It was tuna. It would have been tuna.”

 

“Well, that’s not vague. Come on, Brian, tell me.”

 

“Did you know he was seeing someone?” Brian asked quietly.

 

Lindsay’s surprised expression gave Brian his answer. “No, no. In his last email, he mentioned he was living  
with someone. But he didn’t make it sound like it was serious.” Lindsay rested a hand on Brian’s shoulder, her  
face now deeply concerned. “I’m sorry, Brian.”

 

Brian erected his wall of indifference. “Don’t worry. I have everything under control.”

 

“Well, what’s he like?” Lindsay asked, sipping her drink again, trying not to sound too interested.

 

Brian stood and poured himself a glass of water. “You could say Justin’s found himself a lost pup.”

 

“That sounds kinda sweet.” Lindsay answered hopefully.

 

“You could also say his pup is really a pussy.”

 

“What?”

 

“His pup’s a fucking pussy!” Brian insisted.

 

“Brian, be nice,” Lindsay giggled.

 

“Oh, I’m being nice.”

 

“At least Justin found someone. If he couldn’t have you, at least he has someone.”

 

Brian digested Lindsay’s answer. He didn’t like it, but she was right. Dammit. Reluctantly, he sat back down  
next to her.

 

Lindsay finished her drink and gave Brian her full attention. “So, this pup. What’s his name?”

 

With great difficulty, Brian begrudgingly said, “Rene.”

 

“Rene…Well, for Justin’s sake, I suppose we should give him a chance.”

 

Brian rolled his eyes with a sigh. He felt Lindsay nudge him.

 

“But for you, I’ll hate his fucking guts,” Lindsay smiled playfully.

 

Brian grinned back. “I knew I could count on you, Lindz.” He looked into his glass of water. “Justin, he’s…  
You need to get him back on track, Lindz.”

 

Lindsay nestled closer. “I’ll do what I can.”

 

“Thanks Mom.”

 

“Sure Daddy. Whoops, sorry.”

 

Brian finished his water with a huge gulp. “It’s OK. You can call me Daddy. It doesn’t sound like nails on a chalkboard  
when you say it. But only you.”

 

“And Gus, of course,” Lindsay corrected him.

 

“Now you’re pushin’ it.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

To download any of the songs quoted in each chapter, please visit **["Wanting Soundtrack"](http://www.livejournal.com/users/keisha7/10422.html)** , a music companion page.  



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